Vorador had seen and used gates that bent space to allow instantaneous travel between one distant place and another before. The Ancient Vampires had employed such gates in order to traverse their far flung settlements without the inconvenience of physically travelling the distance. This was not at all like them. Passing through the gateway opened up by those weird stones felt like he was moving through a tunnel made of densely enveloping foliage, closing in tighter and tighter around him the further he went. Darkness shrouded him on all sides and his vision was obscured by a thick, soupy mist. Out of the shadows whispers began to echo. Small, indistinct voices speaking in no language he could understand.
Grimly the Vampire pressed on, ignoring the growing feeling of dangerous and lurking menace. He could easily endure such feelings. On and on he went. The tunnel seemed never-ending and yet he had the sensation of not having moved at all. The echoing whispers began to build into a high pitched crescendo of noise that assaulted his ears mercilessly. Just when he thought he could go on no longer, the tunnel abruptly ended and without warning he found himself standing on a pleasant, grassy knoll in the middle of an eldritch clearing.
All around him was a surreal environment. Tall trees loomed high above and all around, all different kinds with lush green leaves. Long grass up to his knees ran in a carpet over knolls and small hillocks, occasionally dotted with wild flowers of a variety Vorador could not identify. There was no hint of the winter he had left behind here. This place seemed to be in the height of the new growth of spring.
But that was not what immediately grabbed his attention. Everything all around him, the grass, the trees, rocks and flowers and even the air itself seemed to have a faint purplish hue. It looked very much as if a violet lens had been placed over his field of vision. He looked up. Through the gaps in the trees he could see the sky and that was even stranger. It was a luminous green and the sun itself was pale blue, casting off strange glowing flares at regular intervals. These conflicting, unnatural colours lent the place a fairy tale quality, an eldritch otherworldliness that made the Vampire wonder if he was even still in Nosgoth.
Slowly Vorador let his senses push out, trying to determine the nature of this unusual place. But he found his senses would not obey. It was as if they had nothing to feel here, everything around him a mere illusion which he could not detect. Slowly he reached out and placed a hand on the side of a tree. No illusion, it was quite real. Evidently there was an even stronger magic at work here that dampened extrasensory perception. If he wanted to explore this weird place, it would have to be with his eyes and ears.  Still, he was now certain of where he was.
-0-
“The Druid’s grove lay before me, a place where nature was enhanced and there was no sign that Man had ever intruded. Powerful forces lay at rest in this place. I must be careful not to wake them.”
-0-
Prudently walking slowly, he began forward, passing through the trees and underbrush. Soon he came across what appeared to be a game path and as the land in this place seemed to naturally curve that way, he followed it. There were signs of the passage of animal life everywhere. Footprints, droppings, even some fur caught in branches but at no time did he actually see any animals themselves. This place was a sanctuary for wild beasts but the beasts were absent. That somehow made this Druid’s lair strangely ominous.
Following the path, Vorador began to pass by large standing stones, very similar to the three which had opened his way to this place although engraved with different symbols. Most he could not understand but there were one or two similar patterns. He recognised northern runes and western braids as well as a few symbols that were clearly of Ancient Vampire origin. The standing stones followed the path on either side and Vorador kept going in this direction, confident now he was on the right track.
Coming up over a rise, he saw that the trees opened up into an even larger clearing. Here the ground was even up to the centre where it rose gently in a small hill. Atop this hill were five standing stones set at the corners of a pentagon around its perimeter. In the centre of this was a large stone altar, squared crudely and decorated with crude pictograms drawn with the most primitive of paints. Upon this altar was a large bronze bowl, a pillar of greenish smoke rising gently from it. Standing before this, gazing into the depths of the fumes was the Druid Bane.
The Guardian of the Pillar of Nature had his back to the Vampire but Vorador knew him instantly. He wore the same white cured furs and deer headdress with antlers, a unique outfit.
From pouches at his waist the Druid was bringing out strange substances and grinding them between his hands before letting them fall into the bowl. As each new ingredient fell in the volume of smoke would increase. He was muttering something in a low voice, a steady stream of unintelligible whispers passing his lips each time he dropped something into the bowl.
After a moment the Druid drew a short bladed dagger from his belt and with an almost casual air drew its point across his thumb. Blood welled up and he allowed drops of it to fall into the bowl. There was a flash like igniting phosphorus and a faint glow began to emanate from within.
Vorador watched him for a long moment, considering the situation and then he began to approach. He made no attempt to conceal his coming and perhaps the Druid heard the sound he made, passing through the long grass.
“I do not desire company, especially not in my grove.” He said flatly and with disinterest, without so much as turning around. Reaching down he picked up a metal ladle from the top of the altar and used it to stir whatever was in the bowl. The smoke coming from its depths flickered as if lit from underneath and changed from green to red. The inner light from the bowl cast itself onto the backdrop of dark smoke, conjuring twisting and strange images in the play of light and shadow. “Go away and tell your pack leader that I permit visitors only when I summon them first.” Clearly he did not know exactly who his unexpected visitor was, thinking the Vampire one of the Werewolves. Apparently he was far too distracted by his arcane work to even turn around and look.
Smiling, Vorador walked up to the bottom of the hill and stopped. He rested one hand on the hilt of Marrow at his side. Speed would be best should the Druid prove violent.
“That’s just too bad, Bane.” The Vampire remarked. The Druid stiffened at the sound of his voice and whirled around, his eyes bright with alarm and dismay as they settled on the Vampire.
“You!” He spluttered. Lashing out his hand he snatched up the staff he had left leaning against the side of the stone altar. Grasping it tightly he held it forth, the pearl in the grasp of its gnarled wood flickering to life with its innate power.
“How did you find me!? How did you get in here?!” He demanded, bristling with barley repressed anger. Vorador stood there with an unimpressed expression on his face. He was quite confident that if the Guardian tried anything he could close the distance.
“That’s not important, Druid.” The Vampire said. “I have questions about your work.” Bane was hardly willing to share his research, as was expected. Snarling and spitting he kept the staff pointed up at Vorador but took a step backwards.
 “Did Nupraptor, that lying Mentalist, send you?” He asked with heavy contempt, eyes narrowed in paranoid suspicion.  Vorador snorted dismissively.
 “I answer to no one. I’m here for my own reasons.” He replied. The Druid was not mollified by this at all. He raised his staff higher, as if he were wielding a club. He looked almost ridiculous for one of the supposed Guardians of the Circle.
“Whatever they are, you are not welcome here, murderer!” The man declared vehemently, his braided beard twitching in his fury. “Take your stinking carcass out of my grove!”
“I come and go when I please.” Vorador told him flatly. As if to emphasis that point he took a few steps up the hill completely unchallenged. By the contorted expressions of rage, fear and apprehension on his face, Bane looked like he might want to prevent the approach but he did nothing to effect it. He seemed frozen by the surprise of the situation, finding a Vampire entering his supposedly safe harbour. “You didn’t answer my question before.” Vorador continued inexorably, fixing the alarmed Druid with an unblinking, firm stare. “I want to know where to find the Lost City and the Celestial Arrow. Clearly you know something about the fabled place, certainly more than your Guardian peers.”
There was a moment of tense silence between them. The Druid kept his staff with its mystic pearl high and out before him defensively, his eyes fixed on Vorador and narrowing more and more in suspicious alarm. His anxiety was palpable and Vorador sensed that if provoked, the man would attempt to flee rather than fight.
“And if I do what of it?” Bane snapped back when the moment passed. “It’s my research, my project!” He sounded almost infantile about it, as he was being asked to give up his favourite toy. Vorador’s estimation of the man decreased dramatically. “And if I don’t let my fellow Guardians in on my work, I’m certainly not inclined to allow a filthy Vampire to do so!” He added somewhat spitefully. Vorador levelled his gaze and let his face settle into grim lines.
“I have no interest in whatever you think you’re doing.” He said calmly, in counterpart to Bane’s hysteria. Most of it, however, was a cover. Vorador’s anger bubbled under the surface, for the moment under control but Bane’s words had caused a stir. “I merely need to find the City and the weapon it hides.”
The Druid snarled, displaying his teeth, but finally began to straighten, his body relaxing out of its tense stance. Slowly the staff lowered until its point rested on the ground.
 “That place is evil.” He said with firm conviction, eyes flashing. “It is the source of a great and terrible corruption.” He sneered. “So I am not at all surprised it attracts the likes of you.” Vorador merely raised an eyebrow to this.
“You mean the Celestial Arrow?” He asked rhetorically. Bane rolled his eyes and looked up to the alien emerald sky of his small pocket world.
 “The God slaying weapon of dark and detestable legend.” He muttered with heavy contempt and shook his head. “What a joke.” He looked back down and spat off to one side as if he had tasted something unpleasant. “No such thing truly exists; the mere idea is an affront to all that is decent in the world.” Then his expression turned even sourer. “But I would expect nothing less from the creators of that despicable city.”
He half turned and gestured over the bowl he had been looking over before Vorador’s arrival. The light from within the bowl was casting a very strange image in the smoke. There seemed to be the vague outline of man, arms and legs at his side. Surrounding the figure was an eerie glow that pulsed like the beating of a heart. Seeing this Bane growled almost like a cornered animal. 
“They were an ancient brood of vileness whose evil spreads forth from the depths of antiquity to sully the present.” He said, still looking at the image. “It is their mere touch which has corrupted Mankind. Their taint is even in my own self.”
Vorador had heard such stories before from Humans for the memory of the ancient civilisation of the Vampires had been perverted into some hideous myth about angels and demons. Most often the Humans told of that long forgotten time as an era where fallen angels or demons ruled mankind until the coming of the word of God which liberated them.
“Then it is a city of my predecessors.” He muttered as if to himself. But Bane just laughed at this, rolling his head back as if he had been told the funniest jest in the world. Laughing intently he leaned back against his stone altar.
 “Do not flatter yourself, Vampire.” He laughed scornfully, jabbing a finger in its furred glove at him and waving it back and forth. “I know all about your ravening black winged ancestors.” The dismissive way he spoke about them rubbed on the nerves Vorador had so far managed to keep calm. His left ear twitched in rising irritation despite his resolve to maintain a stone faced expression, a nervous reaction.
 “They were bad enough.” Bane was still speaking and his callous words did little to soothe Vorador’s irritation. “But the source of this corruption goes far deeper than that.” Angrily he glanced back over his shoulder at the still projected image of the man with a halo of alien energy, a scowl causing his bearded face to wrinkle. “This…this race of ‘creatures’ violated the very fundamentals of nature itself!” He sounded almost as if this were a personal insult. “They perverted things from the natural flow and order with their mere presence alone.”
He gestured with one hand and the smoke from the bowl dissipated, vanishing so quickly that all traces of it were banished in a moment.
“Such was their evil that from the very beginning all Humanity has been irrefutably tainted.” He said, picking up the bowl and pouring the contents onto the ground, a thick, oily substance that hissed when it hit the soil but left no mark.
“You speak in cryptic riddles.” Vorador snapped, his patience fraying. The indifferent calm he had tried to cultivate throughout this interview had deserted him and now his anger was beginning to push through the façade. Bane seemed to sense this and leered at him crudely, a deliberate provocation.
“Because I feel no pressing need to enlighten an intruder in my grove.” He replied, beginning to step backwards around the stone altar. Vorador sensed quite quickly he was about to make some sort of move and started forward himself to preempt him.
 “I don’t have time for games.” The Vampire said with profound irritation, his hand tightening on Marrow’s hilt. Bane saw the action and drew back sharply another few paces, bringing his staff up before him defensively once more.
 “Too bad.” He leered at him, letting a smug smile spread across his lips, pulling up the edges of his black beard. “My grove is a sanctuary for only me and any I choose as a guest. To anyone else, it’s a death trap.” The pearl at the end of the staff began to glow even more intensely, flickering and then wavering with light as if there were an aurora captive within. Out of this light shapes began to manifest, large and small forms of animals of all kinds, deer, rats, birds, wild horses, elk, a bear and dozens of insects. The images spread out, slipping through the stones all around as if they were ghosts. Soon they had Vorador surrounded on all sides, illusions meant to frighten him. Vorador was neither intimidated nor impressed.
 “You were a fool to come here.” Bane said ominously and stabbed the point of his staff down into the ground. With a sudden flash he was gone, disappearing not into the depths of a translocation spell but into the magic that permeated this strange place. It swept him away instantly as if he were thrown into the currents of a swift river. The flickering images of animals he had conjured remained behind and it was then that Vorador realised, with sudden alarm, that they were far from illusionary.
The images Bane had conjured back in Weirstein had lacked substance and form. They had been a mere bluff. But here, the magic augmented by this weird place, the images became solid flesh and bone. The Vampire barely had enough time to yank Marrow from its scabbard before the lunging form of a ghostly bear came straight at him. As it passed by, its form a misty suggestion of movement, it brought down its claws in a powerful swipe. Vorador only just dodged those claws and they came down into the stone altar, biting into it with a crunch. Those claws at least were quite substantial.
Vorador tried to retaliate but he was preempted when the ghostly horses, three of them in a tight formation, charged straight at him. They passed through the stones around them like they were indeed ghosts but as they reared up to batter at him with their hooves they were anything but spectres. Shrieking like some deranged shade from the netherworld they struck at him again and again with their hooves, one of them striking him directly in the forehead as he tried to dodge.
If he had been Human, the blow would have taken his head off. Left stunned by the impact, Vorador’s vision blurred and the world around him seemed to slow down. His head swam in a throbbing pain but his body responded anyway. Seemingly in slow motion, he brought Marrow up and cleaved the spiritual horse which had struck him across its neck. His blade actually did damage, slicing clean through the ghostly being as if it were real. The ghostly form wavered in mid air then dissipated like mist in a breeze. Despite their shade like appearance they did have a physical presence.
The horses began to circle him, trying to keep him surrounded at all times. With his vision still blurred it seemed to Vorador like a constant circle of ghostly animals, green spectral forms a taunting wall of hostile movement. His head throbbing in pain, Vorador lashed out as his instincts guided him, Marrow a dancing blur of jagged steel in the air. He made contact with something. In the heat and blur of the moment it was hard to tell what but when his sight focused for a moment he saw another of the horses stumble before him before dissipating into a cloud of particles. One more ghostly horse was left, a mighty rearing stallion that came at him with its hooves raking the air. Even left stunned as he was Vorador was not foolish enough to take a second blow to the face. He ducked and rolled under the front legs. As he rolled he brought Marrow up and sliced the wraith across the belly with its tip. The stallion fell down in a frontal collapse but burst into smoke before it could strike the ground.
As the herd of spectral horses fell, the deer came in next. Vorador stood there, bemused by the ghostly images of small deer prancing around him. Deer were not exactly known for being deadly creatures to be feared. These animals, however, quickly disabused him of that notion. As one they rushed in, heads lowered in a charge. The force of their rush was far stronger than their smaller bodies suggested.  Deceived by their appearance and left sluggish by his dazed state, Vorador was struck with full force on all sides by the animals. The impact felt like sledgehammers had been taken to every side of his ribcage at the same time. The air whooshed out of his lungs and he collapsed to the ground gasping.
The herd of deer pulled back a short distance, preparing to charge again to finish him off. As they did, Vorador’s reactions were like lightning despite the injury. Marrow was sheathed and Havoc and Malice were drawn from their places on his back. The twin axes were unleashed in a deadly arc of blades, a circle of lethal metal edges. Havoc and Malice sliced through the oncoming herd, ripping their ethereal forms to bits and scattering the mist out in all directions.
His ribs broken and his head swimming the Vampire could not maintain the spin and he collapsed down to one knee with both axes in hand. It was a few moments before he could raise his head and take stock of his surroundings.
Something loomed up behind him and looking back sharply Vorador saw, even through his blurred vision, a vicious swarm of spectral insects. The cloud of bees dived at him but he leapt forward out of their path, spinning about in mid-air and unleashing a bolt of energy at them. In his stunned state the hex flew wide of the mark but struck another creature, hard to tell what in the blur, across the face, causing the phantasmal animal to burst into luminous green particles before Vorador could identify it.
Rolling across the ground, Vorador got back to his feet but unsteadily. His vision was beginning to slowly clear as his Vampiric body healed itself, although his chest still burned with every breath. Havoc and Malice were too heavy to wield when his body was this affected. He sheathed them across his back and drew Marrow again
Enough of the world came back into focus for him to see the wraith like elk charging at him with its massive, jagged antlers lowered. There were mere seconds to react. With an effort that left his head swimming again, Vorador leapt sharply to one side. The points of the antlers barley missed him as he tumbled by, but his reflexes remained fast and instant. Spinning in midair he lashed back and caught the creature across the midsection. Marrow sank deep into the spectral animal and it tumbled, bursting into ethereal vapour.
The elk, however, even its brutal charge had been a mere distraction. The bear came charging in with a peculiarly high pitched roar, surrounded by ghostly eagles, hawks, doves and a cluster of other birds. These flew on ahead, fluttering around the Vampire’s head trying to distract him as the bear lumbered forward like an oncoming avalanche.
Vorador grabbed a kestrel by a wing as it battered at his head, its transparent body quite substantial in his grasp. He swung the ghostly bird like a club and battered an eagle with it, smashing both birds into the ground. In that same motion he brought Marrow up in a whistling arc, cleaving through several more of the birds and clearing the path for him to see the onrushing bear.
The spectral creature was almost on him, paws with claws held up ready to strike and a mouth gaping wide full of pointed teeth. Vorador did the only thing he had to do. He drew Marrow back and then lunged forward, spearing the ghost in the throat with the jagged sword. The bear kept on coming, the point of the sword sliding in deeper. Then, as its claws were mere inches from Vorador’s face, the giant spectral entity vanished in a haze of green.
Perhaps with the Druid no longer present, the bear had been the crux and anchor for the other spectres. When it dissipated the others that remained began to disappear as well, one by one fading from existence. They flickered out like snuffed candles, puffing out into vapour. Soon Vorador was left alone atop the small hillock and he leaned against one of the standing stones, taking a few long breaths. He could feel his body effecting repairs to the battering it had taken. The combat had not done much for his stunned dizziness but his mind was clearing. Slowly but surely his vision came back into focus.
Healing him from that powerful blow had taken some vital energy. It had indeed been fortunate that he had decided to stockpile reserves before coming to the island. Once he was sure he was completely healed, he looked about him. There was no sign of Bane at all. The Druid had fled, leaving his nature spirits to either kill or delay the intruder in his domain. But he had not left his sanctuary, merely used his powers to conceal himself further in.
 “We will see who the fool is, soon enough.” Vorador remarked flatly.
-0-
“Bane had not left his grove but merely moved to its core. Perhaps he sought to hide long enough for the dangers he claimed lurked here to dispatch me. He would be disappointed.”
-0-
He took a few deep breaths, the pain in his chest gone as his ribs had healed. His energies had dropped but it was still an acceptable surplus. Still, his recovery did not put him closer to finding Bane again. The smothering pressure of energies and magic in this place still prevented extrasensory perception, as strong a blanket as ever, perhaps now awoken to his presence by the Druid. If he was going to find the Druid it would have to be with his own eyes. Not an easy task, considering that he had no idea how big this sanctuary really was. This otherworldly forest might go on forever for all he knew.
Logic dictated, however, that Bane would flee to where he felt safest, which had to be the centre of this grove where his powers would be the strongest. If he found the core, he would find the Druid and this time the man would not have anywhere else to run.
A path led away from the standing stones on the opposite side of the hill from the direction he had approached from. With no other options at hand, Vorador followed it into the trees on the far side of the clearing. As he walked, he ran over in his mind what Bane had told him about the Lost City, frowning at what had been suggested.
So the Lost City had not been made by the Ancient Vampires or Hylden, or at least the Druid had claimed. Then what creatures or race could have made it and how could such a species have remained hidden from modern knowledge? Vorador’s frown depended even more. It seemed to him that he had asked that question already.
He remembered the images he had found in the caverns that had housed the obelisk of the spider and snake forms, each showing a forgotten history and strange gargoyle like creatures predating the three races. He had wondered about the implications of their story and now he found himself asking the same thing about the Lost City.
Logic suggested a connection. Could those same alien and ugly beings in the murals be the creators of the Lost City and the Celestial Arrow? And if this was so, then who or what had they been? Why had mention of them been destroyed? What was this ‘taint’ Bane had referred to, which he thought had corrupted the Human race and whom he blamed the builders of the city for? What had the Seer not told him when she had sent him on his labyrinthine journey and what did she expect to get out of his success? There were too many questions and little answers. He was beginning to wonder if he should have insisted on bringing some of the Serioli warriors along with him, Ajatar-Cadre, Ansu or both. He was sure the three of them could accomplish anything.
The landscape of the grove continued on, beginning to gently slope upwards as if he were climbing into the foothills of a mountain range. He knew his way by the occasional engraved standing stone which dotted the landscape, some hidden in the shadows cast by the trees. The first hint of what Bane had referred to when he had called his grove a death trap for the uninvited.
He stepped on something. It was hard to tell what in that spilt second but whatever it was served as a trigger. Acting on instinct he lunged forward, tucking his body into a roll. The two bursts of green fire seemed to erupt like a geyser out of the ground. The flames snaked around, writhing and looping in midair. If he had still been standing in that spot he would have been incinerated. The streams of fire quenched themselves out as they rose, dissipating almost as soon as they had come but leaving the immediate area blackened.
The second trap occurred when Vorador tried to avoid stepping on anything that might be another trigger. He passed between two standing stones which at first glance seemed the same as any of the many others in this grove. A wave of fire shot up from the earth beneath his feet. At the first instant he felt the rising heat and jumped clear, his trained lightning reflexes only just saving him.
These same triggers of fire proved to be everywhere as he continued on. Anything around him, no matter how innocent it might look, could potentially be a trigger for a deadly burst of eldritch flame. The purpose of these traps was of course to dispose of intruders but also to slow down the more persistent, to make them better targets for anything that might lurk in amongst the trees. Vorador was not inclined to either retreat or slow his pace. As if doing so for the mere purpose of defying the traps, he broke into a run. Bolting through the trees he let his instincts guide them. They had served him well up ‘til now and
he put his trust in them once more. The tug and insistence of danger from this or that in his mind directed him as he ran, moving quickly through the trees and around the standing stones, heading higher and higher up hill. He set off some traps as he ran. The grove was so littered with them it was unavoidable, but his quick pace allowed him to easily outrun the fire that burst forth after him. He paid the sensation of heat behind him and the roar of the fire no heed and concentrated on his running, his entire attention kept on the instinct to keep moving.
A flicker of movement caught his attention. Still running he glanced sharply to his left. Through the trees, perhaps a hundred feet away, was a long, powerful, galloping shape. A single glance even at a distance told him it was one of the Werewolves, but far larger and with distinctive wide, powerful shoulders. As if it sensed him watching, its head turned to face him and he saw its eyes fixed right on him even from that distance.
-0-
“It would seem I was not the only hunter to traverse this misty realm.”
-0-
Vorador knew who it was at once. Remus, the so-called alpha male of the arctic sub-species. So Bane had called in his ally to hunt down and destroy the intruder in his lair. He made to reach for Marrow at his side. Remus must have been watching his arm for the large creature cut swiftly through the trees, coming toward him so fast that Vorador barely had time to draw the sword.
Remus burst out alongside him, massive arms coming up in an underhand swipe which could have torn a slower creature to pieces. The Vampire leapt backward, drawing Marrow up in a slash that parted the flesh along the hide of the nearest arm. It was not a serious injury but enough to force the creature to back off with a howl of pain.
Vorador turned to confront the beast but found himself surprised when he turned back to find that Remus was gone. It was as if the Werewolf alpha male had simply disappeared. Even the blood stains left on the ground from the injury had vanished. Vorador cast his gaze right and left trying to sight his attacker, but there was nothing. After a moment of observation, Vorador broke back into a run although now he prudently kept Marrow out in his hand.
Remus’ second attack came further up the now sharply rising slope, seeming from out of nowhere. One moment Vorador had been alone. The next Remus burst forth from the trees with a roar, a juggernaut of muscle, fur, claws and teeth. The Vampire did not even try to dodge that ambush. There was no time. Instead he leaned backwards out of the way of the teeth and claws, letting the Werewolf bear him down to the ground. But as the full weight of the beast came down, Vorador got his feet under it and with one mighty heave tossed him off. As Remus rolled overhead, Marrow stabbed up twice. He had been aiming for his heart but both times missed his mark, stabbing him once in the belly and a second time in the left shoulder. The creature tumbled off him and away but once more, when Vorador righted himself with sword in hand he turned to find all sign of his enemy was gone.
The pattern continued all along the slope. Remus was hunting him insidiously, appearing in places suddenly and making his lunge. Somehow the magic of this place was aiding him, allowing him to come and go with a moment’s notice. Bane’s doing no doubt.
The attacks became more furious until suddenly Vorador came to the unexpected end of the rise, a precipice that dropped down into a vertical cliff. Beyond that, spread out before him was what could only be the heart of Bane’s hidden abode. It was a deep circular valley filled with trees thickly clustered together, so much so that it was impossible to see the ground. In the direct centre of this valley was a jagged peak, rising up out of the midst of the trees like a giant’s fingertip. It was a black, foreboding spire that seemed somehow more real than everything around it. Just by looking at it, Vorador knew he had found the epicentre of this twilight realm.
Just for that little bit of additional confirmation, Remus came bursting out of the foliage some distance away. This time he did not attack the Vampire, but began dropping down the side of the cliff towards the valley, leaping from rock to rock with impressive acrobatics and agility for a creature of his size and bulk. Vorador watched him vanish into the trees below with a deep frown creasing his face. Slowly he turned to look up at that black spire once more. The erect peak suddenly seemed to take on a far more menacing appearance in his eyes. In this peak’s place he imagined the twisted red tower of Dark Eden, spewing forth is expanding cone of warping perverted magics. Bane had been one of the members of the Guardian Circle involved in that insane plot. He had heard about the particulars from Kain during their time together in his early military campaigns. While that scheme had been hatched out of the influence of madness, this reminder of Bane’s potential dangerous insanity was poignant.
He was tired of this game now. He would find Bane and wring the information he required out of the stubborn man if he had to, but Remus’ presence was not going to make that easy.
-0-
“If I wished to find Bane I would need to outhunt the hunter and beat Remus at his own game. Very well then, so be it. Let the race begin.”
-0-
Vorador had not tried to shape change since he had come into this strange place, fearing that it might trigger some sort of backlash from the energies that enveloped this realm, but now he was forced to by circumstance. Sprouting additional elongated legs and folding himself into an exoskeleton, Vorador became the spider once more. Quickly he scuttled over the edge of the cliff and began to descend.