His head swooned and he stumbled slightly. His eyes fighting to adjust from the blackness of nothingness to the bright light of day. Slowly his head began to clear and his eyes began to focus. He looked uncomfortably at his surroundings.

Moonglow...

This he knew. The young elf new many things except who he was and how he had gotten here. He knew Sosaria and the ways of this world, but not his own name.

Slowly he walked along the fence that served as the cities boundary toward the waters edge until he came to a shallow pool of still, clear water. He stooped low to look on his own features in the pool. His hair was long and white in color flowing freely over his shoulders. His skin a dusty yet deep tan. He would seem to a human to be no more than seventeen years of age, yet the young elf guessed his own years at about three decades. Three decades he had never experienced as far as he could remember.

He turned from his reflection and straightened the long black robe he wore. A weight pulled at him suddenly and he looked to his waist here a mace that he knew had not been there a moment before now hung.

"It is time we got started." a voice from inside his head stated.

The young elf turned and surveyed the city before him. His eyes scanning buildings, looking for something specific, yet he knew not what that was.

And then...as if driven by a force he could not see he moved into the streets Moonglow.

Finally his feet stopped before a door. He read the sign above it that identified the building as the weapon smiths. Then the voice came again to his head...

"Your enemy is inside my puppet..",the voice rang. "you must kill your enemy or else it shall certainly slay ye."

The young elf took his mace tightly in his hand and burst through the door. The two smiths inside looked up with a start from there work to stare at the young elf that just entered. To his surprise they seemed to be completely oblivious to the horrible beast that shared space in there shop with them.

The creature the elf saw before him was as big as a man. It's eyes bored into the elf and it snarled with rage as it drew its weapon. The beast seemed to the elf to be like an orc...only larger and if possible, uglier. The monster stood there snarling at him, but made no move to attack.

The young elf didn't hesitate. The voice in his head spurred him on. "Kill it...kill it...kill it!"

The elf sprang on his opponent striking down at the beasts head with all the strength his arms could muster. His strike was blocked by the scimitar the orc thing wielded. Undaunted the elf continued to strike...over and over. Each swing of his mace deftly blocked by the creature's blade.

Behind the young elf the two smiths that operated the shop looked at the elf in amazement. Never had either of them seen there training dummy attacked with such ferocity. They looked from the elf to each other...shared a shrug of the shoulders and returned to there work.

The young elf continued his assault on the creature he saw. He would not relent though he began to grow weary and his muscles began to ache. All the while the voice that drove him was there...pushing him to continue.

"Good my puppet, good. Kill the beast!"

He dropped his mace by his side and rubbed his temples. As his head began to clear he could make out the angry shouts of the shop owners behind him. He blinked as he looked from them to the slain creature at his feet. All he saw was a shredded piece of canvas and a mound of sawdust where the training dummy once hung.

He picked up his mace and the yelling of the two smiths stopped. One made a move towards the door. Reaching into his pack the young elf pulled out a sack of coins that had not been there a moment before. The jingling of the coins in his hand stopped the smith in his tracks. The young elf tossed the coins to the bewildered man as he made his way out the door and back into the streets of Moonglow.

"Very well done my puppet." the voice in his head told him. "You will be ready quickly."

The young elf wandered the streets a while longer. The force that guided him seemed to relent and leave him to his own course for the time being. He knew that whatever it was that had control of him would return soon enough and he would be compelled to do its will.

Up ahead a crowd of people were gathered around a structure that the young elf assumed was the bank. Many had items for sale or were looking to buy items. The pace was almost frantic as the people bustled around. All except one. One figure stood near the bank wall. Brightly dressed and carrying wicked looking halberd the figure stood stoically watching the bustle around him. The young elf took to the shadows close to the wall and approached slowly with undeniable curiosity. He wished a closer look at this one.

He moved to within a few feet and watched the figure for a few minutes. It was obvious this was an elf... and one the young elf guessed he recognized somehow. He waited several more minutes before approaching. He feared that the presence would return and control him once again before he could learn anything of value from the elf.

Bolstering his confidence he approached the elf.

"You...", the young elf started, "are one of... Cirdan's family?" He had no idea how the name of Cirdan had come to him.

The elf turned and smiled at him. Indeed he was. He introduced himself as Xavori Moonlight.

The two had barely begun there conversation when a pain tore through the head of the young elf. He gripped his temples, barely able to tolerate the intensity of the pain.

"DO NOT SPEAK TO HIM!", the voice in his head roared.

The young elf excused himself quickly as his feet felt compelled to move. One before the other the led him in the direction of the inn.

As he reached the door he noticed that Xavori had followed and was approaching from behind.

"He won't let me speak to you." The young elf stated flatly.

"Who won't?", Xavori asked

But the young elf did not answer. He moved hurriedly into his room at the inn and closed and locked the door behind him.

The young elf had no such memories of life to recall. Instead, in his state of reverie, his mind played out the events of the last few days...over and over. The constant trips to the Moonglow graveyard to build his fighting skills, the looks on the faces of innocent healers as he was forced beyond his reason to slay them and his encounter with a familiar elf at the Bank of Moonglow.

Then, as his mind again went over the encounter with Xavori, a new vision entered his head. He saw himself...injured and running for his life. There was something different about himself in this 'dream'. He looked older.

The vision of himself that he saw was running towards a building. A tavern the young elf guessed but he could recall nothing more about it. From behind the injured and fleeing version of himself came a burst of magical energy that brought down the elf in an explosion of fire.

The young elf's own head now burned with pain and he was startled from his reverie.

"Enough!" The voice in his head roared. "Arise and ready...it is time to go puppet. Time for you to do what you are here for. We go now to Yew."

"Time to go. Get ready and head east. Ye shall know the one you seek when you see him."

He flashed back to a time many years past. An elf, a half drow, had attempted to take his life and rob him of his possessions. Tel'Halda.

Glor had taken the young, would-be assassin into his home in the fledgling village of Tel'Ruid. It was his hope that this young breed would find acceptance as Glor had. He had hoped Tel'Halda would find a family and be able to see the truth to the Elven Way of life.

At first it seemed exactly that would happen. Tel became a member of the community. Not fully trusted by some perhaps...but he had a roof over his head, food to eat and a good paying job supplying Glorfindle with potions. He had even met a young faerie and fallen in love. All seemed to go as Glor had hoped.

He hadn't realized of course that Tel'Halda had been accepting 'jobs' elsewhere as well. He had to pause and wonder how many folks had fallen prey to Tel's deadly poisons in exchange for gold.

One of Tel's employers had been the twisted druid Regeas Maletite. Maletite fed off the life force of dryads to extend his own pitiful existence. Maletite had hired Tel'Halda simply to capture a dryad and return her to him. When the ritual to separate the dryad from her tree was preformed, Tel' found himself unable to bring harm the lovely dryad, Delphianne, that had emerged. He had allowed her to escape. This failure would prove his downfall.

Glor was pleased when Tel'Halda moved from his humble shop into his own home that he shared with the faerie, Libra. He seemed to be getting on with his life and seemed by all outward appearances to have embraced the Elven Way.

Unfortunately it was not to be so. Libra left Britannia suddenly and without explanation. Tel'Halda's life went into a dive. He left Tel'Ruid at that time. Left his home full of possessions and ran...or so his friends had thought.

Tel'Halda had gone quite mad. He blamed Glor for his beloved's leaving and sought revenge. The half-drow kidnapped Glor's only brother, Vara. When Glor went to meet with him to discuss ransom, Tel's rage overtook him and he stabbed Glor with a poison dagger and fled. If not for the quick reaction of Tel'Mithrim and the citizens of Tel'Ruid he would have died and Tel' would have escaped.

Glorfindle got up from his seat now and poured himself a glass of feywine to steady his nerves. His brother Vara was now dead thanks to Tel'Halda. The emotions he felt rocked him to the core. Vara had been one of the few in Glor's own family that he was close to.

Glor sat with his glass and again allowed his mind to wander, recalling what he knew of the remainder of this tormented souls life.

Tel'Halda had been slain by Regeas Maletite. Maletite himself was dead now of course. Maletite had returned to Tel'Ruid desperate to locate the dryad Delphianne so he could extend his own life. While haunting the Glade, Maletite had spotted Tel'Halda...and repaid him for his failure.

Glorfindle himself had taken the broken body of Tel'Halda and had it entombed in the cemetery of Yew. Glorfindle had been surprised at the sorrow he felt for Tel's passing. A feeling he could not explain except to say that he felt responsible for everything. He felt responsible for the assassins bringing so much grief to Tel'Ruid. He felt responsible for the death of his own brother.

Somehow he felt responsible now. While walking from the Abbey, he passed a young looking elf. The flowing white mane and deeply grayish tan skin had caught his eye at first. The deep red piercing eyes that bore straight into him as he passed told him for certain. Although the young elf showed no signs of recognition, Glor knew for certain that it was indeed Tel'Halda.

"How?" was the question that Glorfindle now struggled with.

The second night had been worse. He had wandered into the Silver Arrow Tavern where several folks were sitting together. Fear had gripped him as they all turned to cast curious looks his way. All the while, the sinister presence that had control over him whispered over and over in his head, "trusting fool".

"Dolenamo, is that you?"

He couldn't bring himself to look at the one that had addressed him. He sat trembling, afraid to respond to the name he knew in his heart had once been his. Instead he rose from his stool and addressed the others in the room, asking them of the "trusting fool". He barely heard there responses as the voice in his head rose up angrily in protest to his hastily asked question. His head became light.

He turned to the one that had addressed him...the one he recognized as having been an important influence in his life past. "What is happening to me?" he pleaded.

Then the pain came. The young elf had turned and bolted out the tavern door and into the night. He begged his tormenter for forgiveness as he ran out into the woods.

Now a new day had come. The Tavern was deserted and once again he found himself pulled towards it. He knew that he was still expected to complete his task at hand. He also knew that he would have to be more clever than the previous night. He dropped himself into a seat in the corner, pulled his cloak tight around him and began his vigil.

He dreaded what new revelations a third day in this place would bring him. Unable to deny the power that controlled him he sat and waited for others to come.

His vigil had lasted several days and still he was no closer to finding the "trusting fool". He hadn't slept, nor eaten nor drank a thing for these last few days yet he felt no hunger or weariness. He thought about nothing at all except pleasing his master...the sinister presence that seemed to guide him and speak to him.

Now he began to grow worried. He understood the price of failure. If he did not locate what he sought the price would be high. If he succeeded, the promised rewards would be his. Yet he received no further guidance from the presence except to remain where he was and wait.

"Soon my puppet..." The voice spoke to him now. "It is almost time."