Steal my daughter back!

[Sierra]

Word spreads quickly, as it always does on the castle's return, Brislov's citizens clenching in a collective paroxysm of fear, followed by the traditional retreat indoors until Mistvalken's predations have passed for this decade. Some huddle together with their families, some pray, some whisper quietly that sure, it's a tragedy, but at least it isn't our town this time.

A select few challenge destiny instead.

Two such intrepid souls find themselves in a personal audience with the king prior to embarking on their life's adventure. In a sumptuous sitting room in the royal residence at the capital, the king stands before a painting of a young woman, staring at it for a long moment before addressing his guests. Guards flank the doors and a court mage, wizened and bearded, stands by a window overlooking the courtyard below.

The subject of the painting should be personally familiar to one of the king's guests as Princess Elswith. Soft-featured, pretty in a mundane sort of way, long black hair falling in elegantly-arranged ringlets around shoulders bared by a tastefully suggestive gown. The artist captured her expression well: there's that knowing look in her blue eyes that suggests she already comprehends all your secrets and is only waiting for you to share them with her.

King Adrian sighs, turns from the painting. Despite graying beard and long hair, and a suitably regal outfit of blues and purples, he looks more a bureaucrat than a warrior, though his reign has seen extensive conquests in the east.

"We were not prepared," he says, in a haggard voice that cuts through all the pomp of surroundings and appearances. "Eight years. We expected at least another before the castle's return, perhaps two. I would not have let her travel had I known. And now he's taken her--snatched her entire retinue off the road outside Liskan, the town itself now buried by that accursed fog. Our scouts report it emptied of all life."

Loathing thickens his voice as he continues: "I cannot send the army--attempts have been made in the past. He watches and he knows when an invasion force approaches. The castle vanishes. But a few careful, skilled infiltrators...perhaps they can succeed where numbers fail. Thus I turn to you." He addresses each of his guests in turn, one a foreign warrior of impressive stature, the other a slim woman showing elven heritage. "Your fearsome deeds and prodigious strength are widely spoken of. And you--friend of my daughter, and of exemplary service in Brislov's defense. I trust from reputation and experience that you can accomplish the task I set before you.

"Such service demands rewards, of course. Half a million gold pieces await each of you on return with my daughter intact. That is your primary goal. If you have the opportunity once that is accomplished, however...bring me his head, end this scourge forever, and I elevate you to the ranks of nobility. We have ample land among our eastern conquests that need the guiding hand of a strong baron. I could do no less than to grant you that opportunity for ridding Brislov of its perennial terror." He turns again to gaze at the painting. "May God be with you."

In the ensuing silence, the mage clears his throat, speaks in a dry voice. "We know you should at least be able to cross the bridge if you go with all haste. Magical transportation cannot place you with the castle grounds--we know this from experience--but we have had success placing someone within the ravaged countryside that surrounds. It is impossible for us to predict how long Mistvalken will remain among the realm of the living, however--prior visitations have stretched from a single day to as much as two weeks. We will thus send you the moment you are prepared."

Again the king speaks: "A knight in our service, Sir Anders Prevan, precedes you. His orders are to gather intelligence and scout the castle grounds, the state of which we have no reliable records about. I suggest your first order of business be locating him to take advantage of his investigations. As for what manner of unholy beasts you may face within the castle itself, there is sadly little I can convey more than rumor and hearsay. The duke's agents often do not leave eyewitnesses to their activities. I can say that for the majority of the first two centuries following Mistvalken's first appearance, his evil work victimizing the peasantry was carried out by harpies--foul winged women, little more than brutes, really. Traditionally they dwelt in small numbers in the mountains and preyed only on the occasional traveler. Somehow the Duke enlisted their aid in the war against Nomel, for aerial surveillance...and for dropping plague-ridden corpses behind enemy lines." A grimace. "Over the last hundred or so years, reports suggest the Duke's servants have changed. Monstrous winged men, with savage beak and claw and the red skin of a demon, dominate the ranks now. We know not what they are or from whence they originated--though our churchmen have their obvious guesses and I am inclined to agree with them."

He goes silent, seemingly open for questions but just as clearly eager to see you on your way.

[Carthrat]

Madeline stands ready, still wearing the uniform of an elven elite; a coat and armor that blend into the castle wall she leans against, the colours shifting as she moves. As she speaks, her voice wavers between quiet determination and heated anger, and her fists are clenched by her sides.

"It was my error to ever leave Elswith's side."

She casts her gaze down in sorrow. "My body, my bow, they are only to protect her. I will return with her, Majesty, or I will not return at all. It pains my heart to think of her at the mercy of the Count's depraved whims, whatever they may be, and I will gladly see him pay in blood for the sorrow he has caused us."

[Sierra]

"The fault lies not with you," the king says stiffly. "You were ever her friend, without conditions. For that we owe you as much as we need your service now."

[Corwin]

Corben presses his right fist to his breast with the dull clang of mithral. "That fell enemy of yours... I will crush him," he promises, speaking with an almost tangible menace. "You will see his darkness driven before you, and the lamentations of his demons!"

[Sierra]

The king's answering smile is grim, but is nonetheless there. "That's the spirit I was looking for," he says with more force in his voice. "You each seem resolved and without doubts. Good. Let us proceed. If you find it within your power to end this perpetual tragedy, then leave no stone standing in your wake. We will abolish him from history itself when all is done!"

The king leaves you in the care of the wizard, who escorts you to an arcane ritual chamber. An incantation ensues, and in a flash you find yourselves clear across the countryside! Days to the east, amidst the stark remains of what must have once been a lively country village. Houses and stores gape blankly, doors and windows broken in even where barred. Blood slicks the cobbles in a patch here and there, but not enough to suggest wholesale slaughter--there's no more clear sign of actual carnage than that, really. One could almost think everyone just left one day and vandals had their way with the town afterward, but for the mist the swirls all about you despite the noontime summer heat you so recently left behind at the capital. And, well...

From the main square in which you find yourself, the course is obvious--not far down the street the road gives way to a stone bridge that edges out over a lakefront which seems to have sprung up so suddenly as to have caught some houses at the edge of town within its border. The bridge is twenty feet wide, paved with uneven, rounded cobblestones and with a waist-high balustrade on either side. A figure stands before the bridge, obviously prepared to cross...but he doesn't look quite like a knight.

[Corwin]

Corben draws his sword, testing its balance, before pulling off a hair and testing the blade's sharpness as well. Their first fell enemy might be upon them!

[Ebiris]

The figure seen is a man in a long and weathered looking brown greatcoat, a wide-brimmed hat worn on his head and a backpack on his back. The two would-be heroes have barely taken a step towards the bridge before the figure spins around, raising a large lacquered crossbow smoothly to aim at them, a gleaming steel spearhead affixed under the main shaft. His face is craggy and lined with the cares of age, as tanned and weather-beaten as his coat, eyes narrowed to distrustful slits. "You two don't look like servants of the devil," he intones in a gravelly baritone, but his aim doesn't waver. "But all the decent folks've already ran or been taken."

[Corwin]

"You serve that man?" Corben demands to know, pointing his sword at the crossbow wielder in retaliation. His very figure radiates indignation and a barely-restrained rage. "A minion of the twice-damned Duke Varas, are you?! One of his legions of demons and the unclean? Admit the truth, and your death will be quick!"

[Ebiris]

"Fools instead, then," the figure mutters, lowering his crossbow and seeming to dismiss the new arrivals as a threat. "I am a servant of the Lord Brislov. I'd tell you to leave, but your fates were sealed the moment you stepped into these mists."

[Corwin]

"I will take the Duke's head," Corben declares, raising his sword skywards. "By Crom, his fate is the one sealed!"

[Carthrat]

"Elswith would always say that when fate is invoked, it is done only to absolve oneself of the consideration of woe," murmurs Madeline, testing her bows draw; as she pulls it, the string flickers with swirling lights; red, white, and blue. "Whether they declare inevitable victory or inevitable defeat, it is just a way for the doubtful warrior to free themselves from fear; bravado and resignation are equal to the task.

"But I won't make that mistake. Our success cannot be determined by something as intangible as the fog."

[Ebiris]

"Nay, the things within the fog are a far more tangible trouble," the older man retorts, his narrowed eyes scanning suspiciously behind the new arrivals. "I am Eliaphas Crane, Inquisitor of the Vigilant Hound. Whatever madness compels you to brave this cursed castle, it is too late for you to leave, now. If you seek vengeance against the Duke, we might even be allies."

[Carthrat]

"Indeed, he is our enemy. My name is Madeline, and I serve as Elswith's arrow. To leave is to betray our purpose here."

Satisfied with the weapon's impeccable quality, Madeline holds it to one side and focuses entirely on Eliaphas. "We face a fortress containing unknown legions and untold horrors. The shadows within are like to be our only allies. With their aid, perhaps we can evade the obstacles within and reach the Duke unimpeded."