Nixads danced under a darkling sky, joyfully swirling in harmonious rhythm in sync with the sporadic rise and fall of the tide; in their bliss they were woefully unaware of the misfortune brewing below. Parted clouds gave way to delicate silverline stars, and beyond that, a dwelling most beloved by the gold-sheened descendants of the Old Ehlnofey.
Two whistles meant the guards were gone and the duo could move forward. Silently, the small being known as Rune joined up with the much larger person named Silver. Rune had a constant limp and carried no weapons. He wore a cowl made from an old grain sack over his head and it had two eye slits for him to look through. Over his body he wore a flame red vest with black seams and buttons holding it closed. His arms were clearly his namesake as they were covered entirely in strange markings.
The candleflame and the image of it flickered in the mirror where it twisted and straightened when I entered the room and shut the door. I took off my helmet and came slowly forward. The stone floor scraped beneath my armored feet. Along the cold walls before me hung the portrayals of ancestors dimly known to me, all framed up in glass and guttered ornamentation carved and bespackled with gold and fool’s gold. I came to one and pressed my thumb to the waxy veneer.