Looking over his left shoulder he scanned the intimidating walls of The Great Barricade Mountains, a natural barrier between the Lands of the Faye, and the lands of men. Its labyrinth of canyons wound through it's undulating body like the entrails of some gigantic beast, making simple passage impossible. Constant landslides and flash-floods changed the course of existing passes regularly, not to mention the spatial instabilities that occur when two planes meet, had added to the defensive value of the immense range. From the Dawn of Men, it had stemmed the flow of human migration and invasion effectively.
He looked down at the red gem that he held in the palm of his hand and lifted it up towards the sun so that its facets exploded in a dazzling array of crimson light around him; the blood colored gem that had just scant moments before accurately teleported him to this land so forsaken by the Gods. The gem that even still, contained a significant magical charge throbbing in it's facets. Dragonshard!
As he stuffed the gem carefully back into it's pouch, he thought back on how he had "acquired" this rare and precious stone. A certain dragon had struck a bargain with him, and he had accepted. The dragon of course, had received the better end of the deal (which of course is to be expected when dealing with such a beast) but that had been in Tir-na-nog. Still, the gem had since its "acquisition," proven itself to be quite useful in Greywolf's many adventures in the Human’s Realm. It could store magical energy within its facets. Energy formed through spell-work. Once the gem had been "used up" it could be recharged by a competent wizard for a slightly exhorbant fee and used again. The choice of the spells of course were entirely up to the owner. It was, to his amazement, infallible. He was going to need everything in his bag of tricks on this adventure. This time, he was a spy.
Looking off to the west, he could just make out the closest out-post of the suspected enemy, a darkly foreboding place called the Tower of Skulls. It was a common enough name for fortresses on the fringes of human territories, as Greywolf's many travels could attest, only this one was quite different; this one was constructed of human skulls.
He shifted his gaze to the north, and carefully picked his way down into the foothills, for that was where his quarry lay; the Tower of Terror. That abomination had housed tortures to thousands of humans before they were fed to demons while still alive. A cheery place. But that had been over six hundred years ago, in the Dark Times; but Greywolf could remember.
Recently, messenger hawks had reported to Greywolf that a high degree of military activity had been occurring at the tower, then abruptly, the reports had ceased altogether. All further attempts to send hawks in to pry into the activities had resulted in the disappearance of the hawks. All attempts to gain knowledge of the on-going activities had failed miserably. A spy had to investigate.
It had only been a month since Greywolf had arrived back in Selenor, a Wood Elven village north on the Serpent River in the upper regions of the Sylvan Elf Kingdom. He had journeyed there from his keep far to the south to begin his two months active duty with the militia. He had been a General in the King's Army but with the death of good King Elemmakil some eighty years ago, he had served the High Council that ruled in the absence of an elected king. He commanded an elite group of battle hardened veterans, some of which had served with him from as far back as the Demon Wars. It was a hand-picked brigade, The Wolf Brigade. And though the kingdom was at peace, and had not kept a standing army in almost thirty years, he and his soldiers did not use their active duty time for happy reunions; nay, he and his men trained, and they trained hard. So, it had been only natural to send out messenger hawks to reconnoiter the borders. And when reports had returned indicating activity in the land of an old enemy, it had been a foregone conclusion to concentrate one's efforts on discovering more. And when the reports had ceased altogether, it was time to act. So it made good military sense to send a spy to investigate, so he had sent the best one he knew; a spy who's eyes he could trust. He had sent himself.
Oh, he had some trepidation towards the High Council's reaction when news of his "mission" reached them, but they were not military minded folk, and they would not understand. But if what he suspected was true, they would understand soon enough.
As he made his way out across the barren landscape, his feet sank ankle deep into the sterile dust of the vast plain. Shadow Walk! A land that had a notoriously dark and evil past. Why, he himself had fought against an evil mage who had ruled there years ago. An evil, twisted man who valued not life, but power. He had been bent on ruling the world. And of course, the history of Shadow Walk was rife with legends of dark souled humans who had risen to power through domination and subjugation. Usually, the surrounding human kingdoms had risen up and thwarted these megalomaniacs, and it had been in the service of just such a kingdom that Greywolf had found himself when he fought the last Dark Lord. This time it was different. He was in the service of his homeland now, not a two-bit mercenary fighting for gold, revenge, and the "right cause". The ante had been significantly upped.
For two long days he crept northward, sleeping by day, traveling by night, eating cold rations and setting no fires. At sunrise on the third day he finally saw the tower of his quest. And he saw something else, too. A camp! The largest Human camp that he had laid eyes upon in quite some time. He had belly-crawled up to the ridge of the highest dune in his path, placed a sandy colored cloth over his head, and peered out over the rapidly heating expanse of sand. Through the eddying air he could make out many details about the fortress and the huge encampment surrounding it. The only way that he could learn more of the enigma of the tower was to get inside that camp.
It was precisely in the midst of this thought process that he felt a sharp, cold steel point of a spear touch the skin behind his right ear. He cursed silently for his in-attentiveness. "Move a muscle, Elf, and I'll skewer yer brains. What would yer bizness be out here spyin' on the great war camp of our Lord Emperor Falgar the Magnificent?" the brutish voice demanded.
Greywolf moved slightly, shifting his weight to the right. He was rewarded for his efforts by a slight puncture of his skin. "Speak up man," the voice barked. "I'm not a-jokin!".
Greywolf cleared his throat, mind racing. In a steady voice he replied. "Look, friend spear-toter, I am a half-elf mercenary known as 'Greywolf the Wanderer'. I served with 'your Lord Falgar' in the Kaldarin Wars. Fact is, I saved his life. When word reached me that he was building an army, naturally I decided to sojourn here and lend my sword to his cause."
"A likely story you elf-scum spy," the voice behind him spat, "Our Lord Master would never fight next to an accursed Faye no matter how desperate his plight. Let's stand up easy now, and hand me that sword..."
Greywolf had judged the distance to the voice very carefully. As he slowly rose to his knees he spun left, in an incredible burst of speed, palming the spear aside while leaping up, causing the startled sentry's delayed thrust to stab the air harmlessly where Greywolf had formally knelt.
" Somebody should have taught you better manners," Greywolf growled, as he landed on his feet more cat-like than wolf-like, before the startled sentry. He then punched the man in the throat. Wide-eyed, the sentry dropped the spear, and fell to his knees, choking.
"Why don't you lie there and try to breathe for awhile?" Greywolf continued, casually. He watched the man's eyes bulge out from his suffocation, wind pipe collapsed. He methodically dusted the sand from his tunic as the stricken sentry fell prone on the hot sand of the desert. The dying man rolled over on his back, began to twitch and turned blue. Greywolf watched him thrash around for minutes, until at last he stopped moving. The Wolf That Is Grey turned, leaving the now still form in the barren, baking sand, and walked steadily forward, until he reached the huge camp.