The room was dark; very dark. The temperature was somewhere between frosty and outright freezing. The smell was a dire concoction of decay and decadence. In truth it was a most unpleasant room. A kind of room in fact that even the lowest Vesperian dockhand would wince upon entering and your average Trinsician would probably collapse simply from the terrible state it was in. If anyone could have seen the furniture in the gloom they could perhaps have glanced at stained and torn pillows, old broken chairs and an impressive collection of liquor bottles. There was a single chair which apparently still remained in working condition. It was in the corner facing the door, propped up against a squalid bed which had long needed repair. This chair was however, unlike the rest of the room, not vacant. A lithe being was sat upon the seat clad in darkened cloth. The cloth seemed to blend into the gloom of the room providing a wall against the sickening influence of the domain’s previous occupants. If one were capable of perceiving the figures eyes, alas impossible in the gloom of the room, they would have seen they were a cold and apathetic grey.

There was a long and echoing creaking sound as the door to the room was opened. The door was opened slowly so the noise, brought about by the obvious age of its hinges, was lengthened to its fullest extent. A sinister light entered into the room, which for those interested had no windows and a long shadow likewise appeared. The figure in the chair sat motionless as the shadow flickered upon the wall and another entity entered the horrible hole. The figure who entered was a man; a fat man, for it was overly generous to call him otherwise, clad in the robe and hat demonstrating a profession in the magical arts.

“Hello Elijah” said the being in the chair. “You appear to be lost”.
The fat man at the door, the one the other named Elijah, looked first shocked and then laughed. It was not a pleasant laugh. It was not a laugh of amusement but more the sickening sound of a man knowing he was condemned to death yet still seeking to make the best of it.
“Yes Samsca. I suppose I am lost. Thanks to you.” Elijah said. “Since for some inexplicable reason you have turned against me and brought the militia down like a thousand trained bloodhounds”.
The figure in the chair, now revealed to be Samsca, gave Elijah a look of contempt before replying.
“Your incompetence was your own fault human.” The last word was almost a hiss in the fetid air of the room. “The first rule of Vespenland is not don’t not tell anyone about Vespenland. It is however equally simple: Fail and be slaughtered. You failed. Your elimination was inevitable.”
The mage, still stood in the doorway of the room, first froze at these words and then hurled his arms upwards to the frame. “Kal Vas…” he screamed.
There was a soft twang followed by the sound of wood embedding in flesh. This was followed by a low grunt. Elijah found himself nailed to the wall with a foot of wood stuck in his midriff. He attempted to finish his spell but his throat was wet and incapable of spitting forth the last word of his chant. The more he tried the more blood dripped unbidden from his throat to stain his robe a darker shade of red.

The elf rose from the chair with a sudden flourish, the concealed crossbow becoming obvious in his hands. He calmly advanced to leave the room. As he stood in the doorway he gave one last glance to Elijah. He spoke the words low as he raised his crossbow to the face of the dieing man.
“Congratulations on escaping the cells of the Covian mortal. You have however accomplished nothing of note. The deviant known as Dortica is known to me” Samsca took a breath, as he was prone to do, before finishing. There was the click of a crossbow and the magi known as Elijah ceased to be amongst the living. Samsca whispered into the empty air “and I will have her head”.