As they sat in the graveyard awaiting the return of vampire Conrad, Poxig began to importune the obscure black mage about his life. They started a fire and awaited nightfall. The suzukibs were making the loudest noise in the trees, and the bats would have to eat them for supper. Neither of them expected the vampire to emerge from his sepulcher, but they would be damned if they wouldn’t wait for dusk.

“How did you become a student of the dark side?” asked Poxig.

Lakfi paused and tipped his wizard’s cap. “This is a strange question, for I might as well ask why your skin is green. Of course, you had no part in your physical characteristics, since they were determined by Master Control. Many people such as I are born for the dark side. We have never known anything else. But even such as I cannot deny that our continued mastery of a gift given to us at birth is more or less up to us.”

“And the wizard’s cap? Is that standard issue for all wizards in the Naughright guild?” asked Poxig.

“Black mage, mind you!” Lakfi chortled. ” I haven’t yet earned my stripes as a wizard, and so I am still learning the dark arts. I am by no means a master wizard, but then if I was, there would have been no chance of me coming on this quest.  You would have had to pay a hefty fine,  the likes of which I daresay you would not have been able to afford. But to your question; yes, the cap is standard. But it was given to me by a master wizard who had known Darxon before he fully surrendered to the Chaos.”

The name made Poxig flinched.  Of course, the Chaos was the nefarious evil  force more powerful than anyone could reckon with. Even the greatest of knights-errant would tremble before such an evil. It was theorized that this force had come before the dawn of  modern era in Illyria, 2,000 years ago in the Temple of Fiends.

“What was the name of your teacher?” questioned the humble elf.

“Black mages never can give the names of their teachers to those outside the craft. It’s against our protocol. But know this, my young elven friend, not all who practice black magic are outside the realm of Master Control. There are, in fact, chapters in the Dark Wizard’s manual which not even the worst of us would dare to touch, since we know that it would irrevocably transform our likeness to that of the Orc-heraldry. Most of us are simply trying to channel the black magic against the enemies of Master Control, and not for our own benefit. We have much in common with the Red Mages, and more than you would know,” Lakfi said.

“But surely you know the wellspring of life comes from the light warriors?” Poxig offensively asked.

“Ah yes, but we can no sooner deny our affinity for the dark side than you can turn your hair white. You only have an advantage over those who practice dark arts if you know how they think. Whereas a true friend would never betray, the wicked warrior will destroy his closest companion who comes too near his worldly pelf of gold. We come here to vanquish the vampire, but you must know that vampires will only attack innocent victims that they are sure of killing.”

“Then, we may be waiting in this graveyard in vain,” added Poxig.

“Exactly,” said Lakfi.

But at that moment,  a dark form emerged from behind the stone obelisk. Then a voice was heard.

“I’ve been waiting for you, Lakfi,” said the voice.

“Carl Conrad, I presume,” returned Lakfi.

“Ah yes, it is I,” said Conrad. “And you have spoken correctly about our kind. We vampires never fight a battle that we can’t win.”

“Then, be prepared for the worst, for I have no other aim than to vanquish these hosts of night!” shouted Lakfi.

But before he could finish his sentence, the vampire changed into a bat and flew away.

Poxig brushed back the hair from his eyes. He had always wanted to become a wayward wanderer, and now he was able to do so.

It was time to say goodbye to Janquis for now and head to his mother’s house, and this time is was for an extended goodbye. He was now going with Janquis to Marginalia, and he would not return for some time, if ever.

Life would become more fantastical and wildly erratic for this young elf, especially because that time had passed from young adulthood to adult, & now he would see new things and experiment on a level that he had never known.

There were gifts from his mother that he did not want to forget. One of them was the Orb which had once belonged to his father. This was the Orb that the prophecy had talked about, & he had realized how important it was to retain this knowledge. If leaked out, it could cause the imps to summon dark-magic that would overthrow the delicate balance of Illyria.

Once he had arrived at Excelsior, he stayed at his mother’s cottage for a little while, & then moved on towards castle Marginalia. There he would gain an audience to king Charles I, and receive his mission. It was a long slow trudge to the emissary Seljuk, who was the first person to visit on his journey.

In fact, emissary Seljuk, or Er. Seljuk as he was known, was a friend of his father’s, and had been a trusted adviser of the family for many years. He came to the man’s cottage and knocked on the door. In fact, a nameless beggar prevented him from getting to the door. He was asleep on the doorstep.

“This is Emissary Seljuk’s house! Who goes there?” he asked.

“It is me, Poxig, ” said the young elf.

“Er. Seljuk doesn’t like mendicants!” he exclaimed.

“What makes you think I am as such?” asked Poxig.

“I am the guardian of his house,” he said.

“Why do you look like a beggar?” asked Poxig.

“Obviously, to repel the beggars,” he replied.

“And so?”

“You didn’t even ask my name or pay me respect, even though I am a  surrogate for an emissary.”

“Pardon me, what is your name?”

“Guess,” chimed the beggar-man.

“Rumplestiltskin.” said Poxig.

The beggar chortled.

Suddenly the door opened to the house, and none other than Emissary Seljuk emerged.
“What’s all this racket?” asked Er. Seljuk.

“Oh, dear sir, pardon my intrusion. I am looking for Er. Seljuk,” intoned Poxig.

“Is Sheldon bothering you? I told him not to be rude to visitors,” said Er. Seljuk.

At this, Sheldon turned into a falcon and flew away.

 

“Nauta puellam amat.”

Poxig read from the stone obelisk that was at the entrance to the town of Melmond. It must have been some kind of a gravestone. Melmond was known for its lugubrious atmosphere. Broken gravestones littered the town, which was almost deserted.

“Go to the lowlands,” shouted a shadowy figure. “Necessary items will have to be jettisoned.”

“What?” Poxig retorted. “Who’s there?”

But the figure disappeared into the woods.

There was no telling what Poxig would have to do in order to make the situation bearable.  The wizard who dwelt in the land would help him through the next item on his journey. Perhaps like this lonely voice from the wood, he would find the purpose of his lowly journey. Perhaps he would be like the forgotten sailor who made this stone to his lost love.

Poxig wondered what the shadowy figure could have meant. It was not altogether obvious. He had heard from a villager in these parts that a vampire had been terrorizing the town. As the prophecy had read, “the earth begins to rot,” he realized that their town was in grave danger.

Perhaps Poxig, with the help of a hero of old, would be able to vanquish this host of night. But he knew that his guitar would not be of much use in destroying the vampire. In order to do this, he would have to find a stake to drive through the heart of this unholy beast. But he knew he could not do it alone…

He came upon a house with a thatched roof with the letters ‘DR UNNE’ on them.

“This must be the residence of Dr. Unne, the linguist!” exclaimed Poxig. “Maybe he can help me end this misery of Melmond for good!”

He knocked on the door, which opened. A man of studious appearance and thick glasses appeared. He wore a white lab coat and had bits of papers shoved in his coat.

“Dr. Unne, I presume…” said Poxig.

“Yes,” he replied. “And you are…”

“I am Poxig, the elf, from Marginalia.”

“No elves live in Marginalia.” he said. “Good day.”

“No wait!” he stopped the door from closing shut. “Can you help me translate something?”

“What is it? That is my scientific speciality.”

“It is a phrase on an obelisk near the entrance to Melmond.”

“What does it say?” Unne asked.

“Nauta puellam amat.”

“This is a Latin phrase from our ancestors,” the doctor replied. “Our alphabet is closely related to theirs. The phrase means ‘The sailor loves the girl.’ It is the sailor from Melmond by the name of Carl Conrad, who fought in the wars of religion and died to defend our religion from the apostasy of the elves.”

“Thank you, sir,” replied Poxig. “But may I ask just one more thing?”

“Go ahead.”

“Does the girl still live in Melmond?” Poxig asked.

“She does. She’s an old woman that lives down the road by the name of Milly.”

“Thank you sir.”

“Let me ask you one question, Mr. Poxig,” replied Dr. Unne. “What brings you to this desolate town?”

“I am on a quest to become one of the light warriors. One of the stages of my quest is to find the cause behind the earth’s rot.”

“A noble cause!” he said. ” You know that it is connected to the vampire that terrorizes the town, looking for fresh human blood when the sun goes down.”

“I had hoped that Milly might be able to give me some information about how the town used to be before the vampire’s curse settled here. Then, I might be able to find a weakness.”

Dr. Unne grabbed his overcoat. “Let me go with you. Perhaps together, we can end this evil, and restore the earth.”

The two new friends walked down the road to Milly Conrad’s place.