The clearing was pleasant. The trees around where ancient and full of health, the grass vibrant and soft, it even had a pleasant stream running through it burbling away in the background. It was one clearing of hundreds in the depths of the forest, but this one had always been special to the man camping there now.

His had no tent; long years in the wilds had made sleeping in the open as natural as breathing to him. He just had a worn sleeping bag lying on a bedding of grass. Beside it a low fire burned with a pot hanging over it.

The owner of all this sat on a log. He was a handsome enough man, not a large one, but one who had spent years in the saddle, or on the trails, who practiced daily with the lean hungry looking sword that sat beside him. He was dressed in light leather armour that looked a little worn, and a generous cloak that had many patches. It was all well maintained though.

Beside him, within easy reach like the sword lay a staff. It was polished and straight, but unadorned.

He was working on an undershirt at the moment, carefully patching a hole that had just a little stain of blood around the rent. It was old blood though, and he had paid that orc back dearly for the injury.

He didn't even look surprised when the short bald creature stepped out from behind a rock. He just looked up, nodded, and greeted him as if they spoke every day.

"Dungeon Master. Well met."

"Tristan, well met yourself," the Dungeon Master grinned, a truly happy grin. The creature jumped up on the log and wriggled his bum appreciatively.

"I have always liked this place." He looked at the staff that leaned between them. "May I."

Tristan nodded permission. The Dungeon Master picked the staff and looked at it carefully. He nodded his head. "This is very good. You have learned much in your time here."

Tristan grinned back at him. "I had a good teacher for much of it."

They sat for a moment, neither speaking, comfortable in each others presence. While the man looked no more than twenty, these two had a long association, and had many shared memories. Finally the man broke the silence.

"We have heard stories. We hear about young adventurers, about a cloak, a hat, a stick, a club, a shield and a bow. I guess you got past Tiamet."

"Do the stories sound familiar?"

The man grinned. "I had wondered how long before you found some new pupils. You aren't happy unless you can meddle are you?"

The Dungeon Master laughed. But he didn't disagree.

'So how are these newbie's? Are they argumentative and suspicious?"

"No more than some others in the past."

"Are they disrespectful? Please tell me they are disrespectful."

"Not all of them."

Tristan chuckled. But he also felt a loss deep inside. He couldn't help looking at the single sleeping bag, and remembering when there had been six. So much had happened between then and now.

The Dungeon Master leaned forwards and waved his hand. In the air before them appeared a shimmering image, of six youngsters and a little unicorn walking along a mountain trail.

The leader was the Archer. Tristan raised his eyebrow. "The Archer leads?'

"Hank is young but a very wise leader."

Then he saw the ones he had known as the Staff, the Spy and a rather small looking Barbarian, and finally the Knight.

"The spy is pretty, but that knight looks distinctively unknightly."

"My little thief is pretty, and I think the kindest soul I have ever met. The little barbarian is her brother. The Cavalier is…" the Dungeon Master paused, "… my Cavalier tries hard."

"He looks trying enough."

A small boy in a green robe ran into the image trying to catch up. He was being pursued by an angry cow. The others stopped and laugh.

Tristan leaned forwards laughing as well. "That dam hat. I remember that dam hat and everything it did to me. Let me guess, your mage was trying for lunch?"

The Dungeon master laughed a rich belly laugh that would have amazed the six children in the image.

"You shall meet them soon. But first, that coffee on the pot looks nearly done. I still don't know where you get it from."

"In all my time in this realm, that has been my truly great accomplishment."

Tristan stood up and stretched. He went to the fire, and poured some of the thick almost coffee into two cups. As his back was turned he asked "Have you told them about us?"

Dungeon Master was not surprised at the question, or the vulnerability in the mans voice. Time moved funny in the realms, and while this man was only twenty, the adventures he had spent much of it out of the stream of time. The land had forgotten him and his companions.

"No." The ancient creature said softly. He too looked at the one remaining sleeping bag. "It has not seemed right to burden them with that. But the time is coming. That's why you must meet them and soon."

"That image you showed me, it looked like Percival's Mountain. They are not far. I will head there tomorrow then."

"That would be good. Trouble pursues them Tristan, old trouble. Trouble they are not prepared for."

"I am guessing its trouble we kind of made ourselves."

"Yes. But for now, I shall enjoy your company, then we shall talk about old times, and then I will think of how to tell them about you. It's a long story to put into a riddle!"

The two old friends laugh, and the night passed.