Moody's Blues

The azure clad Wizard's scream is a cry of rage rather than pain. Moody's falcon spirit familiar has been brought down while spying upon her potential targets.

"By the gods of all three suns, I swear to you Tan-hew-mon, we shall have our revenge!"

Having initially been summoned by the indigenous desert nomads, their magical red mist flare, streaming back to the Slaver's guild in Valdez, they'd encountered a lone camel rider in the desert, who pointed him in the right direction. A strange, armoured man who possessed a hawk similar to his own.

Finally, after four days hunting, Tan-hew-mon found them enjoying the hospitality of a travelling merchant in an oasis a mere two days from the city. No need to risk an unnecessary confrontation with the vendor and his guards though.

Unfortunately, early next morning, the Elven archer in the group, spotted the predatory bird circling high above them. High but not high enough. Moody, while gazing through the eyes of his falcon, saw the arrow fly straight towards him/Tan-hew-mon. He felt his familiar bank to the left in panic but it was too late!

Pierced through its heart, the dead raptor spiralled down and, even as their spirit connection was severed, Moody felt a pang in the centre of his very being. Much worse than mere grief, a sliver of his soul was lost. But that pain quickly transformed into anger.

Leaving the caged wagon and its riders behind, the dark eyed Wizard leads his eight horsemen on an intercept course with the accursed group. They travel at speed now atop their beautiful desert horses, making no attempt at stealth, with the hot sand kicked up high in the arid air behind them.

As soon as they're within sight however, Moody signals the leader of his riders to slow down.

"Khalil, you know the drill. I'll prepare our defences and when you're ready, take out the elven archer and the armoured man first... Prioritise the peacock Elf!"

At about a hundred feet distant, standing on opposing rising dunes, the two groups stop and a whisper floats over into Fortu's ear.

"Greetings stranger. Are there any Wizards in your group? Any Priests? Any Elves?"

Initially confused by the subtle murmur, the tall Human looks around to see where the voice is coming from but on realising that he's alone in hearing it, tentatively responds.

"No, no and yes. What's it got to do with you though?"

Moody doesn't bother responding. He already knew the answers, he was just wasting time while he prepares his second spell and Khalil marshals his highly trained horsemen.

Conjuring up a powerful wind to whip up the sand in front of them, Moody's unsurprised when the Elf fires an arrow directly at him. It's a perfect shot but rather than flinch, the Wizard smiles bitterly. Every Wizard knows that a clever archer will always target them and therefore every Wizard quickly learns to defend against them. His 'Wall of wind' is a simple but effective defence from this vantage point.

Moody smiles again as he watches his eight mounted guards race down the gentle slope before charging up the sandy incline. Their exquisite, small horses bred for this very purpose, split up and race in two perfectly spaced lines, thundering toward their designated targets...