Deep within the mountains of Ulthua, Dirk DerMond is busy training. The black blade of Tarngath cuts through the spring breeze and cleanly cleaves a wooden log in half. The midday sun beats down upon Dirk's exposed chest and shoulders, gleaming off his tan skin. Sweat drips from the pores of his body due to the physical exertion that has been expended to chop enough firewood to last him another week. He wearily lets Tarngath fall from his hands and slumps down onto the ground, leaning back against a large rock. Moments later Dirk spots a cloud of dust rising from the main road below and a lone traveler racing toward the mountain on horseback. Wasting no time he springs to his feet and gathers up his items, tossing everything into the small cave nearby. Swiftly, he gathers up an armful of the chopped wood and tosses it into the cave as well, repeating this trip several times before the pile is removed. The sounds of a horse grow even closer to Dirk's hidden sanctuary and he hurriedly scrambles up a small tree, using its fresh leaves as cover for an ambush. The rider comes into view, wearing an unmarked cloak and riding an unmarked white horse. The rider begins to slow the horse down, bringing it near the tree where Dirk is hidden. As soon as it is close enough, Dirk leaps from his concealed position, tackling the rider off his horse and onto the ground. Frightened, the horse rears up and darts back down the path it came up, abandoning its previous rider who, from the impact of the tackle, is dead, his skull shattered upon a jagged rock.

A sigh of relief escapes from Dirk's lips when he notices the fatal wound on the unknown rider. He looks up to see the sin falling lower in the sky, signifying that night will soon cover the entire country. Not wanting to waste any more time, he gathers up the firewood from the cave and places it in a pile that he then encircles with rocks. Before long he has a small fire burning, a thin trail of smoke drifting up into the sky overhead. As he focuses his attention back to the slain rider the sky grows even darker than before. Thick, black clouds flock up above, shrouding the night sky. Dirk slowly kneels beside the corpse, removing his cloak to reveal the uniform and insignia of a messenger. Suddenly, strong gusts of wind tear across the countryside. Dirk pauses briefly before walking back over to the cave to retrieve his shirt and cloak. He returns back to the flickering campfire, dressed in his usual attire: light black clothing that covers his entire body from the neck down. His gloved hands pull the hood of his midnight blue cloak down tightly over his head as the wind relentlessly attempts to rip it from his grasp. Dirk once again kneels beside the bloodied corpse, pulling his cloak tightly around his body to ward off the bitter chill that replaced the warmth of the sun. Following a brief inspection of the various items in the messenger's pack, he comes across a rolled scrap of parchment that is addressed to him, sealed with the Tantalus insignia. Dirk removes the melted wax and unfurls the paper, tilting it slightly toward the fire so he can read the message written by his leader. The dried, black ink is scribbled upon the parchment, signifying that it had been written hastily. Wasting no more time, Dirk begins to read.

"To my fellow clanmate, Dirk:
Grave news hath reached my ears here in Hoeth. I cannot elaborate any more upon this matter, for fear that this message may fall into the wrong hands. I write this to you on the twelfth night of Spring to request your presence within the Tantalus Stronghold so the matter may be discussed in further detail as a clan. Ride swiftly and safely as soon as you can, for time is of great importance, and we have none to spare. May we meet again very soon, my friend.
The Leader of Tantalus,
Cloud"

For several minutes Dirk sits there, deep in thought. The sound of thunder lures him back to reality. It has already begun to rain, the cold drops of water beating mercilessly upon his cloak and face. The fire nearby steadily diminishes, extinguished by the fresh downpour. Within a few seconds it has been completely snuffed out, leaving Dirk to sit in total darkness. A brilliant white light briefly flickers in the distance, followed by another loud boom of thunder. Dirk rolls the parchment back up and slips it into his belt under his cloak before rising to his feet.

He walks over to the cave, holding the hood tightly forward to protect his face from the bombardment of the wet droplets of water. Fumbling around blindly, he runs his hands along the bottom of the wall. His hands finally find Tarngath, sheathed, leaning against the smooth stone. Quickly, Dirk throws the scabbard's strap over his shoulder, securing Tarngath across his back. A loud whimper of fear and discomfort rings through the air, coming from his horse that he tied up on the other side of the cavern. Dirk darts back out of the cave and into the dark, cold, rainy night and makes his way around the cavern to the tree where he had secured his steed that morning. To his dismay, he discovers the horse has been freed of its restraints, the saddle, reins, and pack all missing. Dirk disregards this, opting to ride bareback in order to reach Hoeth as soon as possible. He takes off down the main road, slowly working his way down the slope of the mountain. As he grows closer to the base of the mountain the rain begins to fall even harder, hindering visibility even more than it had already been by the downpour.

Before long the horse reaches the flatland below, but even more problems are waiting for Dirk there. A thick fog has settled, covering the plains ahead like a thick white blanket. As if that is not enough, the road has grown extremely moist and muddy, which reduces the ability for a horse to gallop freely at full speed. Dirk mutters a swift curse before pressing onward, still determined to reach Hoeth by sunrise.

For two hours he continues his trip, fighting furiously to overcome the onslaught of elements nature has flung at him on this night. The fog is thicker than before when he reaches the river, the final obstacle between himself and Hoeth. He brings the horse to a stop, allowing it a small break while he goes to inspect the condition of the bridge. The bridge, which had been there only a few weeks earlier, is now smashed into pieces, making passage impossible. Had it not been for the heavy rain, he could have crossed the river upon the back of his horse, but the water level has risen above that point. The only choice left is to take the long way and go around the edges of the river.

Determined to reach Hoeth before sunrise, Dirk returns to the cold and wet black horse. Over the next hour of riding the air grows colder than before, transmuting the falling rain into a heavy mixture of freezing rain and snow, coating the already dumped ground with a layer of slippery ice. Dirk still presses onward, making sure to keep clear of the river and the road. Soon he comes across the place he is looking for and follows it across the river. To his right rests the Sha'Ren Woods, filled with unknown dangers that are lethal to any traveler. Dirk takes special care to stay between the road and the wood, not desiring to ride near either one. He has not traveled much farther when a loud cry of rage echoes above the sound of the rain, accompanied by the clattering of hooves. From the edge of the forest emerges a dozen masked riders, weapons in hand. Dirk digs his heels into the horse's side, urging it to race onward. The horse obediently charges ahead, crossing over toward the road to avoid the riders. The distance closes quickly, the riders easily able to out-match the fatigued horse. Realizing escape is hopeless, Dirk grabs the charcoal-gray hilt of Tarngath and removes it from the scabbard. He wheels the horse around, sword in hand, awaiting the oncoming foes with a look of anger in his eyes. Moments before the charging enemies fall upon him Dirk urges the horse forward, slashing Tarngath as the horse cuts through the center of the mysterious masked men. Two fall dead from the swift pass and Dirk continues onward, cutting sharply toward where the bridge crossing is located. By the time the riders realize what has happened Dirk has disappeared into the dark, foggy, snowy night, and they take off in the direction he had gone in.

After half an hour Dirk comes across the side road he has been looking for. He can still see no sign of the riders so he pauses to allow his horse to rest. By now the ground has been covered by a sheet of white snow and a trail of heavy hoof prints betray his location. No more than a minute passes by before Dirk can hear the heavy clatter of a group of galloping horses approaching. Panic sweeps through his mind as he races back over to his horse, leaping upon its back and digging his heels into the horse's side, encouraging it to run swiftly. Powdery snow flies into the air as he takes off in the general direction of Hoeth, still blindly barreling his way onward through the night. Slowly, Dirk begins to pill away from the riders. Soon he can neither see not hear them, yet he pushes on with the knowledge that Hoeth is only a mile or two away. Ten minutes later trees line the sides of the path, signifying that Hoeth is only half an hour away. He presses his horse on even harder, anxious to escape this dark, cold, snowy night ride once and for all. A grin sneaks its way onto Dirk's face, but disappears soon thereafter as his horse falls forward, flinging him into the snow ahead. Reality becomes a blur as complete darkness sweeps into Dirk's vision before he slips into unconsciousness.

Dirk wakes up the next day in a bed in Hoeth. Sunlight glares through the window, the bright rags blinding him for a moment, A man stands over by the window, looking at the world outside of the room. The man turns when he hears Drake moving around, a relieved smile coming to his face.

"Thank goodness you are alive. You are lucky to be here, had a nasty fall. What in god's name were you doing out there on a night like that anyway?"

Dirk simply stares at the man, gazing straight into his eyes. The man begins to shift uncomfortably under the cold stare, and Dirk looks away before speaking. "I was summoned to Hoeth. It was of great importance and I had to arrive as soon as I possibly could. Not by choice."

"What could possibly be so important? You some kind of messenger?"

"No, I am Dirk DerMond of the clan Tantalus. I received a message that begged for my presence here as soon as possible."

As he finishes saying that there is a knock at the door and in comes an attendant.

"Oh, you are awake, sir. You have a visitor here to see you." The attendant then turns to the man and says, "I'm sorry, but you will have to leave now."

The two men leave the room, leaving Dirk in solitude as he waits for the guest to enter. He gets out of the bed, but sits back down when the pain becomes excruciating. He lets out a frustrated sigh and slams his fist on the mattress. The door opens and one of his fellow clan mates enters, sent to take him to where the others await his arrival.