The Crimson Talisman

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Through the long slit of the castle window, Vaddi peered out at the gathering gloom. For the last two hours the clouds had been piling together, clashing like huge fleets above the towers of Marazanath Hold, the threat of thunder hanging like doom over the castle and all these remote northern crags. Only the snake-tongue flashes of lightning bathed the surrounding terrain in light, jagged as the rocks that knifed down to the sea two hundred feet below. From out of the north, the icy winds gusted, hurled with a terrible energy.

Vaddi could just make out the combers as they shattered themselves on the shore below, like some mad army determined to dash itself to pieces. The first detonation overhead confirmed that the storm had truly arrived, and Vaddi felt the very walls of the Hold shuddering. There had been storms before. Indeed, they were frequent so far in the north of Khorvaire, along this remote sweep of the Karrn Bay, but somehow he felt that this storm presaged something more ominous, as chough within its cloaking darkness some other force was stirring.

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