Chapter Six: The Trigger

Toril, the Moonwood, June 20th, 1391 a.c.

Moonlight shone down on a rare festival occurring within the Moonwood. It was the Summer solstice and it was also a brilliant full moon. There hadn't been a night like this in decades. Moon elves danced under the luminous sky. One of the many festivities that occurred in the Moonwood that night took place on a treeless hill known as the Mouth of Song, where many moon elves and dark elves communed with the moon together. This contrasting and paradoxical festival was possible because these dark elves were followers of Eilistraee, the one good drow goddess who gathered to her bosom any dark elf who chose goodness and light over darkness and wickedness.

It was a festival of boisterous singing, fair maidens dancing and enchanting firelight casting mysterious shadows on the revelers. There were many secluded celebrations taking place in the woods on that night, but the one that occurred on the Mouth of Song would forever be remembered in a different light.

Those who were in the know would remember this as the event that triggered the madness. It all started here, on this seemingly peaceful night.

He stood amid the shadows of the wood, part of them yet undeniably separate. He was too dark to completely blend in with the shadows. He crouched out in the dark, beyond the protection of the festival lights. His eyes glinted keenly with a malevolent inner will. He was Dusk, a psiforged stalking prey who didn't even know he existed, but soon would to their eternal dismay, short lived though it be.

He was a robotic warrior given life by the Cannith forges and imbued with the power of psionics. He was far more than he appeared to be. Few were those who knew his name and fewer still who could speak it without fear. He, of course, had no allies, only momentary partners foolish enough to work with him.

He had an insatiable hunger for destruction and unfortunately for others he was very good at destroying things.

His name was Dusk for a specific reason: his metal skin was dark as pitch. Charcoal grey like industrial smokestacks was his main coloration and he had undertones of copper shot through his frame, giving him the look of a being formed of the last vestiges of sunset in the right light. His body had an iridescent inner glow that cast no real light, but gave him a unique and not quickly forgotten appearance that he both enjoyed and disliked. Enjoyed for the impression he left in people and disliked for the uniqueness of it, easily remembered and tracked ass he was. Two colors of crystal adorned his body, dark purple crystals the shade of dark eco and dark black crystals like some essence of pure shadow. These also glowed with an inner light that cast some light waves, but he could suppress these into darkness with a thought.

He was a master at stealth and assassinations were his trade. His reputation in the underworld of crime was small, but spoke for itself to any who heard of him. Aside from his psionic abilities and his martial prowess with blades he had other abilities he kept hidden lest his secrets be revealed.

With Dusk on this night were his two most recent "fleshie" partners, both of whom he was actually beginning to consider above worthless. His two allies were experts in their respective fields. One was a necromancer and the other was a summoner of astonishing skill. Each could lay waste to a small country if they had the desire, but together they had just enough power and ability to serve the purpose Dusk had in mind for them.

Tonight they were ordered to hang back and watch. They must behold Dusk's might with their own eyes so that they would know without a shadow of a doubt what happened to those who betrayed him or stood in his way.

At the top of the Mouth of Song stood a young elf priestess, barely ten years old and precocious as was her age, she was busy whistling with a piece of grass. She was playing such a nice little ditty that her father didn't want to disturb her, but eventually after letting her go through two repetitions of the song he cleared his throat and called her name.

"Elaya," said Mortius. "It's time my dear."

Turning the girl gave her father the biggest grin. "Ok Papa!" she said breathlessly, filled with excitement at her first chance to participate in the solstice ritual. She was dressed in a flowing white gown and wore a crown of freshly picked flowers in her hair. Her green eyes, so like her mother's, shined with pleasure and happiness. Mortius was a prime example of a dark elf turned to the light of his goddess Eilistraee and his obsidian skin, pale white hair and red eyes set him apart from all other surface elves.

Shanidrey, Mortius' wife and Elaya's mother was a moon elf of surpassing beauty. With pale skin like pearls, hair so black it shined blue and green eyes flecked through with gold dust: Shanidrey was heart wrenchingly beautiful. Mortius did suffer persecution for his presence in the Moonwood, but his marriage to Shanidrey had mostly quieted down such bias and persecution. Elaya was the wood's shining guidepost to a better tomorrow.

Shanidrey led the procession up the hill, her daughter right beside her all the way. Mortius watched with a smile from the bottom of the Mouth of Song as his family ascended to the top of the hill.

"I have been told you are the keeper of a way into the Gates of the Moon," A voice whispered at Mortius' back.

A million thoughts shot through his mind, but he was foremost concerned for his family. His eyes darted up to them, his concern very apparent. He dared not turn to see who was behind him.

"What do you want?" Mortius asked in anger.

"The key to the Gates of the Moon," said the voice. "Do not test me."

A sharp pain pierced Mortius' back and he gasped in shock and agony, but knew better than to cry out. He felt a warm liquid flowing down his back and knew it for what it was: his blood.

"Quickly tell me the way to the Gates of the Moon, or I will kill everyone here."

The voice held no threats, only promises. Whoever this was they were dead serious. Mortius could tell that much.

"The key to the Gates of the Moon is in the cellar under my house. You will find it within the chest under the stairs. The key allows you access to a portal hidden on the eastern edge of the Moon Pass." Mortius gathered his breath and resolve. "The password is 'under the light of the moon.'"

There was a pause before Mortius felt the knife at his back vanish and he breathed a sigh of relief only to feel a terrible pain on the back of his head. He fell limp and lifeless to the ground. Up on the hill Elaya and Shanidrey commenced with the ritual, secure in their belief that Mortius was watching them. He may well have been, but not from anywhere they could see him. Dusk, his dark deed complete, retreated back into the shadow of the wood.

If the elves discovered Mortius' corpse before he had a chance to get away he'd have to deal with them. He couldn't use magic without some sort of covering spell because if they had someone skilled enough to detect his spells he could be tracked that way. Thankfully he had brought along a summoner who could provide a covering spell for their getaway. Not to mention a big enough distraction to confuse their pursuers, if there ever would be any.

Dusk nodded at his companions and they gathered together, the summoner doing his incantations, summoning forth who knew what. When the incantation was done the summoner nodded to his two companions and they vanished with a mass teleportation spell. A light appeared in the sky over the Mouth of Song. Everyone turned to look at it and happy faces soon became confused, then afraid. It was not the glow of stars or moon. It was a fiery orange color, the color of flame. It grew from one big light to many small lights, shooting down wrathfully from the heavens.

Within minutes the whole forest around the Mouth of Song experienced a rain of stone and fire as many small meteors impacted on the land, catching a huge swath of the forest on fire and destroying the sanctity of the ritual irreversibly. Death rained down, killing many in a massacre that would not be long forgotten. The fires ravaged the wood for over a day and were only put out by the concentrated efforts of many moon elves. Mortius' body was discovered later on and initially they thought he had died in the barrage, but a healer examined him more closely and determined he had been murdered prior to the rain of fire. His family grieved for him and gave him a proper burial.

The elves grieved, but they also knew something was perilously wrong. Their goddess was in danger. Five days later after the night of death the moon began to cast an evil glow on the world and the Moonwood elves knew something terrible had happened to their goddess and to the world.

Dusk stood overlooking the golden towers of Huzuz, the City of Splendors. His brokers had known better than to betray him and he was expecting a delivery within the next two weeks that would get him one step closer to his goal. The cold night wind made his black tattered cloak billow around his form, but the coldness couldn't reach Dusk. He was immune to such things. He stood there, looking out at the hapless and clueless masses going about their daily lives. Ignorant fools, all of them. Soon he would have what he wanted, thanks to the infliction of a curse on a few paltry worlds, but he would still have it. At that moment Dusk couldn't see an obstacle barring his plans from bearing fruit and that made him examine his plans from every detail. Sometimes it was dangerous when no problems were apparent.

He would have to come up with countermeasures in case anything or anyone tried to stop him, unlikely as that seemed. Wild cards were not unheard of and were usually all it took to unravel the best laid of plans. First he would talk with the Grand Caliph, or more likely his puppet would, and then he would set traps along his safe routes. He had much to still do.