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Wind broke against the stone walls of jail issuing its warning of the approaching storm. On a frail wooden frame covered with a thin hay stuffed mattress against the northern wall Mordain sat quietly. His face thin and skin paler if that were ever considered possible. The look of arrogance that had once been so common replaced with hopeless thought. Had all of HIS faithful members been killed as he had been told? He had no news of the outside world in some time; he hadn’t seen a guard in days and couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten.

Settling back a little further on his bed his eyes dangled on the missing index finger on his right hand. “How could I have been so blind?” He thought as he replayed the events of that fateful night in his head over and over. “This mortal form was too weak to see it…” He continued to himself as if trying to justify his lack of power to see what was happening behind his own back. Squirming a bit on his bed he could hear the nagging wind getting stronger strengthening to a high pitched howl as a clasp of thunder and a bolt of lightning shot somewhere off in the distance…

for the first time in his life Mordain felt the cold chill up his spine, and a sense of panic he had never felt before…He was no longer in control.