Keepers of the Glade

The heavenly body of Luclin lights the dank air of the swamp just after mooncrest. The pale light parting the darkness as the frogloks and trolls tramp thru the tropical undergrowth. A pair of Tier'dal work frantically in the light of the moon in hushed tones using ancient handsignals to communicate as they spade the soft earth. Finally a spade resounds with a clink of metal meeting metal. Hurriedly the younglings claw at the fetid soil almost delirous in their discovery. Soon the mail of Dark Prince Regeants armor is found along with an ancient staff of some sort. They found him !!! The glint of sapphires shiny with a hateful angry glow, the young dark elves unwrapped the tattered shawl from the body looking on the crest on the worm eaten wrist of the skeletal form. The relics of time forgotten there for the taking. The relics of a past life cut short by a powerful force. The relics of a powerful Necromancer that changed his fate and walked in the light. There .. in a death grip at the corpse's chest.Bound in the skin of wood elves and gnomes the glyph of Innoruuk burning hatefully in the white holy light of Luclin. The eyes of the two dark elves already alight with the dreams of power trapped between the ancient covers. Eagerly they wedge daggers between the long dead fingers of the corpse king and pry for all they are worth , They have to get the ancient tome !! They remember the stories told in Necromancy class of the one that walked beside the paladins and meet the gods on thier at thier own homes. The power .. the hatred .. the sheer audactiy of implied fates between these crumbling pages!! In thier mad rush to rob the dead of his treasure a long lonesome wail fills the air as the staff roars to life its carved bone head washed in the eerie glow of Noraths moon, eyes glowing agnrily at the intruders as it dances from its resting place supported by invisble hands. The air grows painfully cold as the staff howls its warning at the two young dark elves. Startled they jump up and turn to meet the staff daggers drawn , spell scrolls opened in haste. Feeble acid bolts fly at the staff and daggers batted aside like a father would bat aside the playful hand of a child. Eyes wide frozen in a voice scream the pair of would be graverobbers feel bony grasps on thier thin shoulders. Turing slowly to meet the eye gaze of their attacker a rictious grin forms on lips long rotted away. "Yes, my children" the hollow voice speaks in anceint Tier'dal " The Cryptwalker is very much real" a few syllables uttered in a forgotten tounge as the two bodies fall to the swampy floor with a soft thud the staff floating lazily thru the air to the grnawled claw like hand . " Yes, Howard .... back to Neriak" The air crackles with power as a gate thru the ether opens up. Wrapping the Coldain prayer shawl around his aching shoulders. " then on to Grobb"
A wicked fangy grin finds itself on the eternaly young face of the once dead tier dals face. "I agree Howard .. some one needs to teach the young ones necromancers dont die .. we are just forgotten"
A bolt of black energy fries a lone shadowed man in the distance " Of course we will look up Bimby and Boomer when we get to Grobb now get moving you hateful duck !!! " Smiling at the night as the gate closes around him ................