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Description
Prologue

The wind was cold as it washed over Nirmalis in his hiding place behind the large oak, and it brought to him the scent of what he had been tracking for two years. As silent as a shadow, he crept forward and risked a peek around the thick trunk. There his prey stood, tall, with his night black hair falling in a ponytail to the half of his back. His breath was ragged and tired, and several rips marred his fine blue cloak. Now was the time!
  Raising his bow, Nirmalis channeled forth a ball of bright blue energy. He laid it on the bowstring, then pulled. After aiming just right, he let it loose. Of course, it never hit. It’s target leaped high into the air, and landed crouched and ready, a hand on his sword sheath, a few metres away from where he had been. Just as expected. Straightening, he looked Nirmalis in the eye, and let the barely controlled hatred in him slip out through his blood-red eyes. Most men would have been terrified out of their wits at such a glare. Nirmalis did not blink.
  “So, my old friend.” said the man, “Again, we find ourselves in this position. You trying to kill me, and me trying to go about my daily business. I must say, you have a horrible habit of interrupting people when they’re in the middle of something.” His red eyes glowed with terrible hunger.
  Nirmalis glanced around the small camp before him, and spotted a limp hand peeking out from behind a bush. Then it struck him. It was a trap, it was all a trap. His prey was not exhausted, fatigued or even the least bit tired. He had been fooled.
  Nirmalis watched with horror as the many cuts across his enemy’s face and hands simply vanished. “I have been waiting, Nirmalis, waiting for so long…” he said in a rasping voice, “Now finally, I will get to suck your marrow dry and be rid of your annoying presence in the back of my skull!”
  With that, he leaped forward, eyes flashing, inch-long fangs bared, silver shortsword coming out of its sheath, left hand stretched forward and claws slowly extending… The Myl’mlathmer charge, the technique used by the Risbane to crush entire lines of foes. No one had ever survived it before… except Nirmalis himself, of course. In an instant, he had his bow out and blue energy arrow ready. Aiming, he fired at the monster’s chest, just as the monster’s shortsword pierced his flank...

Description
Prologue

The wind was cold as it washed over Nirmalis in his hiding place behind the large oak, and it brought to him the scent of what he had been tracking for two years. As silent as a shadow, he crept forward and risked a peek around the thick trunk. There his prey stood, tall, with his night black hair falling in a ponytail to the half of his back. His breath was ragged and tired, and several rips marred his fine blue cloak. Now was the time!
  Raising his bow, Nirmalis channeled forth a ball of bright blue energy. He laid it on the bowstring, then pulled. After aiming just right, he let it loose. Of course, it never hit. It’s target leaped high into the air, and landed crouched and ready, a hand on his sword sheath, a few metres away from where he had been. Just as expected. Straightening, he looked Nirmalis in the eye, and let the barely controlled hatred in him slip out through his blood-red eyes. Most men would have been terrified out of their wits at such a glare. Nirmalis did not blink.
  “So, my old friend.” said the man, “Again, we find ourselves in this position. You trying to kill me, and me trying to go about my daily business. I must say, you have a horrible habit of interrupting people when they’re in the middle of something.” His red eyes glowed with terrible hunger.
  Nirmalis glanced around the small camp before him, and spotted a limp hand peeking out from behind a bush. Then it struck him. It was a trap, it was all a trap. His prey was not exhausted, fatigued or even the least bit tired. He had been fooled.
  Nirmalis watched with horror as the many cuts across his enemy’s face and hands simply vanished. “I have been waiting, Nirmalis, waiting for so long…” he said in a rasping voice, “Now finally, I will get to suck your marrow dry and be rid of your annoying presence in the back of my skull!”
  With that, he leaped forward, eyes flashing, inch-long fangs bared, silver shortsword coming out of its sheath, left hand stretched forward and claws slowly extending… The Myl’mlathmer charge, the technique used by the Risbane to crush entire lines of foes. No one had ever survived it before… except Nirmalis himself, of course. In an instant, he had his bow out and blue energy arrow ready. Aiming, he fired at the monster’s chest, just as the monster’s shortsword pierced his flank...