Echoes of the "Elders!"

Cascading down my back was my long, vibrant blue/green hair, known as "Raven-Wolf," a dramatic contrast to my pale white skin and the striking purple eyes which seemed to possess an inner light.

In history, my areas of expertise and background knowledge cover a broad range of subjects, but my focus has always been the roles and traditions of the Druid, the Artificer aka {Blood-Hunter,} and the Cleric.

With a graceful, icy demeanor, fearful, I project an aloof, imperious, and almost god-like presence, which successfully keeps people at a distance.

In my role as a creative-writer, ghost-writer, and freelance-author, I delve into the complex psychological aspects of criminal behavior, a pursuit that causes a meticulous examination of case files, coupled with extensive interview sessions.

The sounds of a brewing storm - a tempestuous downpour beginning with the gentle pitter-patter of rain - filled the night as I sat warmly indoors, an unsettling contrast to the quiet evenings usually experienced in this small, peaceful town.

Having inherited this aged castle on the windswept coast from my mother after her death last spring, I find myself permanently alone in what I call "Castle Rock," a place filled with memories and solitude.

Distracted from the topic of conversation, I added logs to the fireplace, about to settle back into the pages of my absorbing novel, when a chilling sensation gripped me, making me acutely aware of the house's reputed haunting.

Just then, a spectral phantom lurked in this old house, its wide eyes jumping about, and an eerie, unsettling feeling that I wasn't alone overcame me.

First, the lights flickered erratically, then the fireplace made crackling noises, and finally, a ghostly puff of grey smoke appeared fleetingly, only to vanish as mysteriously as it came.

Although I consider myself knowledgeable about this castle, the apparition's appearance by the grand fireplace induced in me a curious mixture of sleepiness and fascination.

Being fully awake now, a persistent feeling has developed within me; I realize that my sense of security in my sanctuary was a false assumption, and so now I aimlessly wander around.

As I searched, a previously unknown door opened unexpectedly, revealing a secret chamber of which I knew nothing; from the darkness, an old friend, an owl I knew as Clockwork, swooped down, landing on my arm with a deafening screech, a sound so loud and unfamiliar that it shocked me.

Undeterred by the many challenges posed by the crypt's intensely chilling atmosphere, my determination, significantly enhanced by the inspirational power of "Clockwork," proved more than sufficient, and my search progressed without a single interruption.

A vortex, forming with striking intensity directly before me, stole my attention and inexplicably transported me back in time, where I found myself once more in the familiar scene of my sun-drenched, quilt-covered self repeatedly adding wood to the comforting warmth of the fireplace.

With heavy, leaden limbs, I dragged myself up the endless stairs, the darkness a comfort compared to the despair that swallowed me whole in my empty room.

Golden sunlight kissed my face as I blinked away sleep, the birds singing a joyous welcome to a beautiful new day.

Proceeding down the staircase, I stumbled upon a rather heartwarming sight: Clockwork, the white owl, peacefully resting in her nest and happily consuming her morning meal.

Having completed the cleaning, I proceeded to the media sitting area where I found myself immersed in thoughts about the phenomenon that occurred last night and recollecting the historical narratives my ancestors recounted about this ancient castle prior to it being known as Castle Rock.

The loud chimes of the clock announced it was a quarter past one. Then, as I was waking from a hypnotic state, the phone rang, startling me. An old friend, his voice urgent, announced their arrival, saying, "Hey Raven-Wolf, long time no see!" before abruptly disconnecting the call.

There should have been a warning about my old friend - the mysterious Raistlin, a creature of the night who is both vampire, shapeshifter, and blood hunter - whose background should have made you wary of him.

A satisfying *crackle* confirmed that he added more wood to the hungry flames as he stoked the fire, fueling not only the fire but also his anticipation for the evening's guest.

Having carefully set the heavy history book of Castle Rock down on the table, a sudden movement immediately captured her attention in the shadows beside the door; it was Raistlin, appearing seemingly out of nowhere.

The cheerful aroma of the meal filled the air, a warmth that spread through us, our friendship strengthened by mutual trust and respect.

Beginning the cleaning process, an eerie feeling immediately permeated the atmosphere; a thick smog rolled in, adding to the unsettling feeling, implying Raistlin, with his heightened magical senses, detected an unusual shift in the magical energies of the atmosphere, causing an involuntary activation of his magical abilities.

Recalling my background, which included a god-like presence, my roles as a druid and a blood-hunter/cleric, and years spent studying my craft, I experienced a surprising gust of wind that caused the pages of my old history book to ripple and reveal a previously hidden crypt and an old casket concealed behind it.

Darkness seemed to cling to the air after Raistlin vanished. My investigation began with a careful study of the ancient history book, its yellowed pages whispering secrets.

With no fear, I moved further into the damp crypt, the air heavy with the smell of old stone and dust.

A glimmer of light guided me through the tunnel towards the casket. Just as I was about to open it, Raistlin reappeared, his face etched with a grim expression.

The controlled rage clear in Raistlin's voice when directing a retreat to the media room engendered considerable anxiety, prompting me to almost challenge his order.

In the media room, Clockwork, the white-owl, remained perched on its branch as we observed Raistlin, resolutely expecting additional fog, fill the room completely before his subsequent disappearance.

"Could someone please explain what is occurring here?" Rave-Wolf demanded.

At that moment, all I wanted was the calming peace of sitting by a crackling fire, listening to the ocean waves rhythmically hitting the nearby rocky shoreline near Castle Rock.

A significant amount of time - years, in fact - has elapsed since I last engaged in a meaningful conversation with this old friend, our contact limited to infrequent exchanges of postcards.

The reappearance of the object brought us together, and we embarked on a quest filled with mystery and the strange, a journey we did not expect to find ourselves upon.

The daylight woke us, but the missing pages of the history journal were more than a simple inconvenience; they fuelled Raven-Wolf's curiosity, and now, the increasingly strange situation had us both completely baffled.

Was this a prank pulled by an unknown individual or entity, if so it is not amusing because it is indeed pleasant to reconnect with a familiar face or two, but this is not the reason we are here, what is puzzling about this baffling mystery and why is it happening right now?

The end of our journey is at hand; remember, at the outset, I shared my family's history, including the mysterious missing pages from that history book, and now, this secret casket contains a golden emerald, finally unveiling the mystery.

Let's pause that discussion; as if by magic, the thick fog dispersed, revealing a bright light illuminating the somber castle, and before Raven-Wolf lay the ancestral inheritance, at last rightfully claimed.

This beautiful heirloom, a gift from my ancestors, is something I cherish sharing with my family and close friends; it's truly a perfect blessing.

Raistlin was gone, but the memory of his shadowy departure lingered as I tended the fire with Clockwork, the white-owl, and read a well-worn novel, alone in the quiet night.

Who dares to suggest that the realms of dreams and nightmares hold less reality than our immediate waking experience? To put it another way, I was on the verge of sleep when the image of a rapidly approaching storm, with its inherent potential for devastation, entered my mind.

Today, I set my sights on a new adventure where the wind blows in another direction; then, a current swept me and Clockwork my white owl - into another time and space.

I stumbled into a little village deep in the darkened forest, accompanied by my trusted friend, “Clockwork, my white-owl,” and a peasant directed me to the one called “Crawley.”

In his quest to become Chief-Elder, Crawley, the reigning king of Purgatory and the Word of Elders, seeks to tap into limbo’s power to harvest souls and claim the Word of God, a move that inevitably leads to conflicts that challenge his ambition.

He was almost at his teepee when he heard a sharp, loud tweet from Clockwork, the white- owl; this was a warning cry designed to alert the whole town and grab the Chief Elder’s attention.

The Chief Elder’s stern voice cut through the sudden silence, ordering everyone back to work except for the individual with the white-owl, who was to follow him; this interruption, leaving me feeling oddly out of place, instilled a lingering sense of unease.

The Chief Elder, after a lengthy conversation, imparted a critical mission: I was to journey to the Neverlands of the dark elves, fairies, halfling, dragons, and the legionary unicorns, all of whom were facing imminent peril, as he explained.

Allow me to express something. Crawley, without being noticed, was listening in on a private conversation, clearly eavesdropping. Realizing I have three extraordinary talents, among them supernatural, god-like powers, I should have reacted to that much more quickly.

Leading the adventure, I sent Clockwork, my white-owl, ahead to make sure I reached the destination before Crawley; however, as I walked the creepy path, an unsettling feeling gnawed at me, culminating in the unexpected appearance of Raistlin from the shadows.

While Raven-Wolf walked alone, unafraid, down the creepy pathway, Raistlin watched from the shadows, knowing that as a druid she could conjure a mythological creature to protect herself at any moment should the need arise.

Reaching a fork in the road, a rustling noise above her startled Raven-Wolf, causing her to freeze; at that very moment, a dark elf appeared unexpectedly, along with three accomplices, effectively blocking her passage and making it impossible to continue.

A dark elf confronted me, his head about three feet from mine, his staff menacingly close to my throat as the other three dark elves surrounded me and steered me away from the trail.

As a member of the tribe emerged from the dark shadows, the dark elves bowed deeply before the powerful “Queen Gold-Moon,” and a firm voice commanded them to leave immediately.

Observing my distraction, Crawley discreetly slipped away to the Neverlands, the location of my quest, as Raistlin, unnoticed, devised a clever plan to divert Crawley’s attention.

Having concluded the family reunion, I returned to sit before my Aunt, whom I secretly call “Queen Gold-Moon,” and, with a bit of dark magic swirling around Raven-Wolf, she created a vortex to set me back on track toward Neverland.

Startled, Raven-Wolf reached the peak of Neverlands only to find Raistlin there, and the harsh “duck” from Raistlin himself sent shivers down their spines; as they hid, dark shadows appeared from the distance in the vastness, adding to the difficulty of breathing from the height of the mountains, already filled with the dark spirits surrounding them.

In pursuit of Raven-Wolf, the Dark-Queen perceived an aura of malevolent darkness far exceeding that of Queen Gold-Moon; this realization prompted an immediate command: “Raven-Wolf, with all speed, find safety within the white dragon’s gaping maw!”

Given that Raven-Wolf, otherwise known as Raistlin, established this as a suitable campsite, and considering his actions while visiting his aunt, Dark Queen Gold-Moon— specifically, misleading Crawley far into the dark forest, eventually transporting him to another dimension across countless forgotten realms—it is a good place to set up camp.

Maintaining a watchful stance as Raven-Wolf replenished the firepit with wood, Raistlin politely asked if she was tired; receiving a weary affirmation, Raven-Wolf promptly fell asleep before completing her response.

While Raistlin was enjoying the sunrise and Raven-Wolf was busy cleaning up the camp, a wood-elf suddenly appeared, surprising them, and swiftly guided them down a steep passage that led deep underground.

With the danger finally behind them, Raven-Wolf, showing appropriate deference, considered the precise wording of her response carefully.

While Raven-Wolf sensed nearby fairies and wood elves who observed with warmth and cautious friendliness, upon reaching their destination, a puff of smoke, like a dragon’s breath, magically produced the chef.

Despite the Chef’s absence, his presence permeated the room, and Raven-Wolf, having just seated herself, observed a procurement document, written in a foreign language and situated directly before him, but just as he was on the verge of opening it, a purple cloud swept down, pulling Raven-Wolf into the white dragon’s gaping maw.

Using Raven-Wolf and Raistlin’s wits, they discovered the town of Palanthas had enshrouded the treasure in its knowledge.

In the Chef's presence, it was Crawley who demanded Raven-Wolf to hand it over, and then a whirlwind swiftly arrived, carrying Raistlin and Raven-Wolf to the Dark Queen’s Gold-Moon in the Nektulos Forest.

Following our journey, we returned to the imposing Castle Ravenloft, and there we discovered its esteemed head chef, Tatanka Iyotake, the guardian of the legendary Raven-Wolf and Raistlin gems, had successfully returned these precious artifacts to their legitimate owner.

Waking to the sound of birds chirping, I reflected on the strange events of the night, unsure whether I had been dreaming or experiencing a nightmarish reality. With an air of silence, Raven-Wolf watched as the feather floated down, a vision that was as ethereal as it was beautiful.