The Golden Scepter - Prologue

She had heard stories that it was guarded by magic, magic that had been forgotten to the worlds; spells that could not be undone with the sorcery of her kind. She had come prepared to battle with these ominous forces. She had brought a power stick with her, an instrument that could be used to subdue magic for only a small duration of time, and also she had brought a bag of deflecting dust, so as to disguise her true identity.

She had entered the temple by shattering a stain glass window, only after she had ascertained that the premises was clear. She thought it rather foolish that priests, despite the festive activities of their holiday, would abandon the only thing they cherished most in their religion.

The temple was ill lit, and the only lighting were the candles that surrounded the altar that held the scepter. She smiled as she remembered her approach to the altar: the anxiety that had swelled within her chest, the sweat that had ran down her palms, and the queasy feeling that had almost destroyed her stomach.

But the attempt, one she had anticipated on being quite difficult, was in fact easier that she had thought. The only trouble she had was lifting the golden scepter up. At that moment she had been filled with a feeling that was beyond her to describe. The magic, the spells, the overwhelming sense of dread and animosity, was not here. It was all a hoax into ensuring the safety of the device. Nothing was what it had seemed. The priest had lied in order to protect what was theirs. They had lied to the people they served.

She had wrapped the scepter up and ran from the temple, knowing that the stain glass window, more than nine feet above her was no longer and option to consider in their flight. She'd burst throughout the streets, lost in the festive crowds, and ran like the shadows on the heels of crows, into the night. But the scepter's absence was soon detected, and the priest had immediately set up a campaign to recover it back to the altar. With the aid of their powers they had found her seemingly without incident. And now here she was, hiding in the mists, waiting with a heart that beat like the wings of dragons, wandering if her assailants would find her out or not.

She suddenly saw one of the lights arch her way, and it was suddenly contributed by the voice of a man, she recognized his voice despite the symphony of insects around her. It was the Head Priest, Zavien, the one who stated the edicts the lesser priest were to follow; the one who was powerful than the rest. She held the scepter back into the bundle, then ran in a blind direction. Although she had a sense as to where she was, she also knew the priest could detect where she was moving by their powers. She ran for several minutes, but the priest did not fall to folly, and followed her as best they could. She heard them shouting commands again, but this time in their own native tongue. It was deep and resonant and carried across the valley like a rolling thunder.

Their lights suddenly went out, plunging everything into the darkness she had not wanted to see again this night. Not in control of her feet, she stopped in fear. She looked around her violently like a cornered animal. She sniffed the air, trying to catch a scent of the priest robes which were tainted by the scent of their incense.