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May 24, 1740 EQ,  Temporary Salmonil Camp Just East of Cah Bel 

Ruins East of Cah Bel

Consus entered the sanctum of his master’s tent.  He had to wait a moment to allow his eyes to become accustom to the darkness.  He could just make out the outline of his master’s throne turned away from him.  A pit five paces before the throne, the only source of light, emitted a sickly green glow.  At the periphery of the light’s reach stood what could be called pillars.  Their twisted shapes looked like they grew up thickly out of the ground only to die and wither into their present form, black, glossy supports of the tent roof above.  Consus, who frequented this chamber more than most, dreaded every visit. 

With reverence, he began his approach to the throne.

His master was growing quickly in power among the Salmonil tribes.  Consus had to admire the way he was

usurping the authority of the Counsel of Tribes, the old order that passed and enforced inter-tribal laws.  Soon his master, Araknik the Gray Wolf, would take their place.  He ruled with a heavy hand that some saw as oppressive, but others saw long overdue.  The old pride of the Salmonil was being restored through conquest and to many, a glorious new age was about to dawn.  The entire world might someday owe allegiance to this formerly backward nomadic herdsman, and Consus wanted to be at his side when it happened.

Yet something about Araknik bothered Consus.  Do I really owe allegiance to this man, he had to ask himself, if man he truly is.  Rumor had it that he had lived over a thousand years.  Consus doubted that, but could guess that the Gray Wolf, as he liked to be called, was somewhere around ninety or a hundred, a withered and wasted man.  This did not mean that Consus considered his lord weak or feeble.  On the contrary, his master often chose his own tent guards as his sparing partners. 

Scroll 1: History's Mirror                                                                                    Chapter 1: Treasures from the Past