The heavy swamp fog laid thick upon the Swamp of Shadows, swirling and twisting into every crack and crevice. Xoco could hear his footsteps splashing lightly in the shallow amounts of water underfoot, and yet he could not see past the knees of his human form. This accursed fog was always a bother when traveling through this region, and it made Xoco wary of everything. His hand shot to the hilt of one of his weapons whenever a tree moaned or an animal scurried underfoot, for one could never be too cautious in this swamp. More than one battle-savvy warrior had mysteriously disappeared, and most accredited these strange vanishings to the many monsters that laid around every corner.

His eyes darted back and forth as Xoco looked around for his quarry. He had not come here for just any reason, but rather to find a mysterious man who had been lurking around Arda for some time now. Little was known about him, save that he seemed to always know more than he told, and destruction soon followed on whatever ground he tread. Xoco had been lead to believe by an old storyteller that this man was a prophet to the return of the Chaos Elemental Tithdaeron, a being of great evil power who had disappeared into the sands of the desert a very long time ago. Some said that he had been swallowed whole by the desert; others that he had unwittingly wandered into a dimensional rift and never returned. Still others speculated that he had met a sticky end at the hands of Ita, the Chaos Goddess. Xoco was not much for tales like these, but he knew thedangers of the desert, and nothing was truly beyond possibility there.

His thoughts strayed onto these thoughts as his feet subconsciously lead him deeper into the swamp. He had been told that there would be an ancient willow tree at the very center of the forest, one taller than all of the others. At the base of it’s twisting lengths, the storyteller had said, was where Xoco would encounter this mysterious shapeshifter. Right now, he really wished that he had a name by which to call his quarry, such that he could call out through the thick haze for some reply. But such was not the case, and he was stuck wandering and looking for the tallest tree in the swamp.

His gaze was set forward and his face set into a firm glare as Xoco continued to walk. The ambient sounds of the swamp surrouned him as the time passed, one hour, and then two. It seemed like an eternity to spend in a place like this, one that he really wished to take his leave of. With a sigh, Xoco urged himself on, trying to ignore the onset of fatigue and the disorienting effects of the swamp gasses. His search seemed rather stupid now; a fool’s task. How was he to find the tallest tree in this forest? There were so many, it would take an eternity. It was like attempting to find a needle in a stack of needles.

Then, suddenly, he stopped dead and his gaze turned upwards, following the tall trunk of an enormous tree. It’s trunk was enormous, enough for ten men to stand abreast inside of it. It twisted and turned, as if an artist had taken clay and molded each fine curve on an enormous potter’s wheel. The tree’s trunk extended far beyond the expanse of the other treetops, obviously the tallest tree for many miles around. A feeling of relief flushed over Xoco’s mind as he realized that he had finally found what he had been looking for.

Taking another ten paces forward, Xoco came to the base of the tree, feeling incredibly dwarfed by it’s towering height. Nodding, he looked around, wondering when this man would supposedly arrive.

“I have come seeking the Shadow,” he called, thinking of nothing else to call this thing. His gaze scanned the horizon as he waited for the man to arrive.

The swamp was rife with a conondrum of silence. As if it knew the events that were to take place, and observing carefully. Attentive. Waiting for what it came to see, waiting for what it was here to learn. Although, in all irony, the swamp had actually been here since anyone could remember. Such a strange set of feelings and thoughts, which purveyed the surrounding area nearly as thick as the terribly dangerous fog like substance that was native to this neck of Arda. Those with strong minds and bodies could resist it for a time, but for the creature unprepared it brought on untold... no, best left untold, suffering.

A traveller, a foreigner to this place surveyed the area, searching for something it had come so long to find. Eyes everywhere followed it's progress, for this wraith was not unfamiliar to these lands, and the lands knew the wraith as well. Coming to visit one who had been laying dormant for an unmeasured time in the shadows. Known as the Acrid Shadow, a prophet of doom, one whom all felt familiar but none could place a finger on. One man, or rather, one thing only knew from what place did this creature hail. And at the moment, he was bound to a clear but strong problem.

A shapeshifter, just like the one whom he told of, capable of evasion if necesary. Taking a humanoid form, but not quite human. There! Xoco the Dark Wraith had arrive at his intended destination. The Swamp of Shadows silenced further, giving heed to the words about to leave the spirit's mouth. The words, being this: "I have come seeking the Shadow."

There was no reply, but the silence left. The creaking of a branch could be heard in the distance. A harsh, growling sound nearer by that faded to the west. Then, a whisper, or was it a thought? "You have come seeking a shadow. You have passed many on your way here. We think you are looking for one in particular. Name it and it shall come to you. Describe it and it may appear before you. We have many shadows. Many shadows... so many..."

A fabrication by the one shadow with the intelligence to create a situation as this. The clever prophet resided in the large tree as a creature of the swamp, a dark, looming raven with deep purple eyes. The so-called foilage hid it's location for now. The tallest tree by far in this place, it allowed the Shadow to see for quite a distance. He knew of Xoco's approach some minutes ago.

Why would this wraith come in search of him, however? This was a question indeed. Acrid had not expected this, for, he knew of only two of the the four that were said to bring the one fear from his prison in the heat. Famine, lord over the deserts, and Erik Browden, a man unwittingly involved. He would be tricked to guide the other three to their goal, and unleash his own most hated foe. What a delcicious play the Fates had written for Arda in this age... A delicious play indeed. Perhaps this one was of the four? Only time and speech would answer the inquiry.

For a moment, naught could be heard throughout the forest. It seemed as though the entire swamp had fallen silent, commanded by some higher force to muffle every noise. The winds did not stir the thousands of tree leaves, nor did the pitter patter of animal’s feet create an ambient sound. The birds ceased calling, the roars of the indigenous lizarians seemed stolen away, the groaning of the trees was hushed. The magical properties of these lands granted the forest a seemingly unified being; as if everything was separate and yet whole. Drawing further into it’s depths was as entering the mouth of beast. The silence was both uncanny and uncomfortable, and he wished that something would break it.

Then, something spoke, and yet it did not really speak. It was not even a whisper, not simply low in tone, but it was not speech altogether. It was almost imperceptible, like something heard in a dream. Xoco assumed that the Shadow was not entirely a man as he had expected, but something utterly different. His chest tightened slightly as Xoco began to wonder exactly what he had gotten himself involved in. Xoco did not truly listen, but rather understood what was being conveyed by…. whatever it was he was interacting with. “Hmmm,” he thought, “A riddle, then.” Xoco wondered exactly how he should respond to this cryptic message. He stood in silence for a moment, contemplating, and then spoke.

“I know the shadows, for I have spent many moons in their company. Indeed, I know the shadows. The shadows lie where the light has failed, where the darkness creeps unto every corner and into every place where the light cannot reach. For as bright as the lamp may burn, it cannot illuminate everything. For as long as the candle may flicker, it cannot shed light unto the entire table. How, then, am I to call merely one shadow, for I know many of the shadows, and many of the shadows know me? And then, how am I to call the shadows at all, for they have not a name; the shadows are many, and names are given only to one. The shadows cannot be described, for they take many forms. The shadows are many, how shall I call one out from among them?”

Xoco enjoyed playing these types of games, answering a question with a question until one entity was forced to provide an answer. Of course, naught of what he said was untrue, but it was all just as cryptic as the Shadow’s riddle. Now, in this dull silence, Xoco’s eyes began to thoroughly scan the landscape. He wondered if perhaps the Shadow was simply hiding among his brethren in the darkness, and if such was the case, he could be anywhere. The Shadow’s thoughts gave no hint to his location, for they came from no specific direction, but rather from every direction, all at the same time.

Xoco’s gaze turned upwards into the tree, where they met nothing but blackness. Surely, the man could not be hiding in this tree; there was not a branch or foothold for fifty feet. It was impossible, and thus Xoco put it out of mind quickly. Deciding that he would not be able to find this man until he chose to reveal himself, Xoco waited for the Shadow’s response.

A new silence, this one different from the last. The swamp bent in to listen again, inclining it's ears to the shadow's reply. The stranger was wise indeed in his reply, for really, were not all shadows of the same source? No shadow was truly it's own, afterall, and none had a name. Just something to be called by, as the mortals were concerned. The Wraith looked diligently for a person, a figure, something to identify the source of the noise with. Soon, however, he gave up his search in exchange for patience. It was a more favorable avenue at the moment.

"Clever..." replied Acrid, peering down on Xoco. "You give a well thought and wise answer, Wraith. Indeed. Impressed we are, much impressed." The shadow changed shape, becoming what it was truly to be. A shadow. It crept down the length of the trunk. The distance to go seemed endless, but wsa travelled in seconds. Reaching the ground, it approached the awating wraith and circled it curiously, inspecting it's quarry. Nearly playful in nature, it disapeared into the darkness once again, observing Xoco. Then, again, another whisper of a thought filled the swampy forest. "Your name... your name..."

Insisting, almost commanding, that the Wraith reveal his name. He had passed the first stage of the test. Worthy enough to be used. A name would be required for the endless fear to know him by, for not even the mighty prince knew of the two mysterious unnamed ones of the four to be called forth. "The Acrid Shadow, is what I am called. I have no true name, no true calling, except to herald the coming presence of a fear forgotten." said the shadow, as it returned to view and formed itself before the wraith.

A somewhat human shape, of decent height and girth, wrapped in a black flowing robe. The hair hidden under the coat, an inky black, seemed to be alive and moving ever so. Never resting, changing in pitch, length, angle. Two, white, solid eyes, peered out, piercig to the center of the soul. Discerning their object of scrutiny. Similar in appearance to Xoco himself, when in his true form. Wraiths and Shadows were not too far apart, except for the fact that Shadows were bound to the darkness whereas Wraiths are not. The swamp began to speak again, thoughts among the living things in the foggy gloom. The Acrid Shadow! The teller of the fear of the realm! Behold! A shadowy thing that no one has knowledge of, except for those whom he reveals himself too! It has arrived! The turned human has come!

Looking about, Acrid hissed at the swamp for revealing his true identity. Yes, a human turned to a shadow, but not compleetely so. More of the sort of a vampire, and one with more connections to Tithdaeron than even the Chaos Elemental understood himself. Only Acrid knew exactly from whence he came, and it was from Tithdaeron himself.

Xoco crossed his arms as he stood at the base of the tall tree, his eyes continuing to flicker back and forth for any sort of movement. Every stir in the distance alerted his attention now, every swirl of the swamp gas seemed suspicious. Xoco prided himself on his meticulous attention to detail, and yet even this was not enough to find the source of the Shadow’s communications. No motion, no form, nothing. At least, not yet. A silence hung in the air for a moment after Xoco had finished speaking, and then the Shadow replied.

Xoco smiled to know that he had made a good impression on… whoever this was. For now, it seemed, there were no more cryptic messages t o be had from this strange presence in the marsh. Instead, there was a remark of impression, and then nothing. Xoco could sense something moving… somewhere. And yet it seemed that everything was still. The trees did not sway, no small animals scurried into the foliage. And yet Xoco could not shake the uncanny feeling that something, somewhere, was moving.

His eyes moved just the same, scanning the landscape, but he found no sign of anything out of the ordinary. After the silenced stretched into eternity and back again, another thought came from the Shadow. Xoco contemplated weather or not to respond. Finding no adverse reason, he said simply,

“I am called Xoco,” he said. His eyebrows raised slightly as he spoke. It was quite an odd feeling to speak to someone without knowing where to direct your voice. It was like calling out into a great void for something that you were not even sure existed. Yet not quite, for Xoco had the unsettling knowledge that the Shadow heard every word. The feeling of being watched was unsettling.

It spoke again. One remark in particular told Xoco of the purpose of this visit.

“The Forgotten Fear. I assume you reference Tithdaeron, the lost Chaos elemental? Quite an interesting purpose, to herald the return of someone long dead. Whose work is this? Necromancers? Chaos mages? For obviously he is very much deceased. Or is he?” said Xoco.

Xoco noticed something moving in the shadows, quite suddenly. It formed, twisted, swirled… as if not entirely solid, yet not gaseous either. Finally, there came a dark silhouette through the mist of the Swamp gas. It looked rather similar to Xoco in his wraith form, and yet not entirely so. Xoco stared intently at the Shadow’s solid form, taking in every aspect and detail.

Finally, the Shadow had shown himself.

((Lets make the assumption Xoco became the Gaurdian of Shadows before this conversation, to make things easier as far as timelines go.))

Acrid laughed nearly menacingly at Xoco's response. Hardly dead, hardly, was Tithdaeron. Merely... indisposed, at the moment. Waiting for someone to free him. All a part of his master plan. "No, Xoco, No necromancer knows where he lies, except for soon, you. You may or may not have heard, as well, but, recently Ita has taken to slaying her own at her will. There are no longer any chaos mages left from the generation that knew him. Part of the reason being, that, Ita suspected corruption among her ranks. From Lothlomendil mostly, but, in truth, there were some tainted by the Chaos Prince himself. Those that knew what really transpired between the creation and creator..."

Acrid paused for a moment, but did not move. A moment to allow the information to sink in. Reorganizing what one has learned takes a little more time than starting with a clean slate. "...But that no longer matters. As I am sure you know, Tithdaeron was only ever rivaled in power by another mortal near his disapearance, that person being Alba the Chaos Pheonix. I am sure you have at least heard of the young fellow. He seems to have disapeared too, but, that also is not entirely important."

The shadow stepped in closer to Xoco, this time, all ths time, his voice clearly audible as originiating from its true source. A true whisper, this time, for only two two hear. "Tithdaeron lives. After Ita disowned him, he slowly lost his connection to the limitless chaos energies that powered him so. It drove him mad, beyond reason, and in a final fit of rage, he entrapped himself in a glass coffin of the sands of the mighty desert. He was quite powerful even without having been turned to an elemental, and, in that between state he remains. His psionic powers are whats influencing these happenings. He knows that Ita is in a hard state of affairs, and he wishes to exact his revenge on her for her betrayals."


The dark prophet returned to his normal standing position, and crossed arms that were previously not visible. "Isn't it so that you are the Maiar of Shadows? Tithdaeron himself was fond of them quite a bit. Once he was a vampire, a, cousin shall we say? Used them often. This is why you have shown yourself, no doubt, event hough you may not have realized it at first. I was wondering who you would be. For, you see, two are already decided. Famine, the Desert Warlord, a companion of Tithdaeron's, and Erik Browden, a simple scholar and excellent illusionist. They both represent facets of Tithdaeron. You are a third. There are four. Are you willing to league with him? The Pariah would be at your side should you need his services, as he is loyal to Famine for having saved his life, he shall be loyal to you for springing him."

The proposal was a hard one to resist, or, at least that was the idea. Having an ancient power at your side that would follow orders was quite an advantage indeed, and when his name is called throughout the land, children and grnadchildren now grown would tremble at the myths that had come true.

“I am very well aware of Ita’s cleansing. We Aniur have ways of knowing many things. If I may be so bold, she is quite the fool to destroy her own forces. But, of course, Ita is the epitome of insanity. Looking for logic in her is like looking for a drop of water in the desert. There is none to be found,” said Xoco. His tone shifted from curios inquisition to the stern, low, serious tone in which he normally spoke. There was no point in holding back his personal views of Ita; this messenger was not Tithdaeron.

The shadow paused for a moment. So the Chaos Prince was alive… a most interesting piece of information. Walled away of his own volition in a prison of glass, hidden in the sands of the desert. What a stroke of fate this was, to gain knowledge of where such a powerful ancient being had been for all of these years. It had been a long time since anyone had seen or heard of Tithdaeron; now, at least, Xoco knew why. Again, the Shadow spoke, wandering slightly in his thoughts.

“Alba the Chaos Phoenix probably met some sticky end or another. He was arrogant, and foolhardy. Too much power for his own good. My personal theory is that he was caught up in Ita’s genocide,” said Xoco. After he had chimed his comment, the Shadow stepped closer, and instead of speaking, the whisper returned. The same barely perceptible voice coming from all directions, and yet clearly human in tone. Xoco listened carefully, taking in the story of Tithdaeron’s disappearance. Then the Shadow spoke aloud again, speaking of some quest to save Tithdaeron. Erik Browden… Xoco did not know this name. But the other rang loud and true: Famine, the Desert Lord.

“I know of Famine. One of the Riders of Apocalypse. As you well know, my lord has been at odds with these riders for some time now. It might not fall out well between myself and Famine. But, for the sake of resurrecting an enemy of Ita, I will attempt to make it work. Tithdaeron’s return will ring in a new heartache for the Goddess of Chaos. She will not be very welcoming to him, but that is beside the point,” said Xoco. He looked at the Shadow, dead in the eye.

“I will aid your quest,” he said. The promise of power lured Xoco to helping the Shadow. After all, resurrecting a thorn in Ita’s side would be interesting, and it would bring in a new era of evil to Arda. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Xoco smiled, and waited for a response.

The swamp reeled in a mix of fear and ecstasy at the Shadow Gaurdian's reply. Untold events were to take place. Already, three of the four had been discovered. But, to bring the second one, Erik, into enough darkness to release the elemental of chaos was a different story. It was for this purpose that Xoco must have been meant to serve. Erik was the only one who new exactly what to do to restore Tithdaeron's ability, just releasing him from the glassy trap was not enough. For, he would simply be an old, burnt out creature in immense pain. It was better for him to be in his dormant state at the moment.

"Erik Browden, a scholar, historian, and a gifted illusionist, resides in Lomedor. He is especially proficient on the story and details of Tithdaeron, more than just what most are aware of. Through research and other perilous means, Erik learned firsthand what the Pariah is really like. His very essence." it was true. Erik's parents, family, freinds, all were killed or corrupted eternally by the Pariah when he attacked and destroyed a good portion of Lomedor single-handedly. He had all the reason in the world to see Tithdaeron captured and killed, or worse. It was necesary to use someone especially powerful to corrupt Erik. Blind his mind to his hatred.

What better person to do this than Xoco? "All he knows he earned in exchange for the loss of all he cared about. He hates Tithdaeron more deeply than any other human. It will be necesary to change him. This is what we need you for. I can lead you to him, but do no more than that. I know not how easy it will be, but I am sure you can handle it. Human forms are very susceptible to corruption. The most adaptable of all species in this realm, I might venture to say."

The air around the pair turned suddenly thick with tension, as if some great pain had filled the forest. The fog seemed to curl around the two, ready to attack. Acrid looked about. This was an unexpected and unwelcome sign. Something bad was going to happen if they stayed any longer. A low growl was heard not far off, followed by several more. All in comradery, and all bloodthirsty. "The swamp will not tolerate me anymore, and I suspect it seeks to cast you out as well. I suggest we leave for Lomedor." spoke Acrid hurridly, and before Xoco could reply, he quickly made his way south to the forest and the safety of the plains. Disapearing in the fog after only a few feet, he left a trail of thoughts behind him. Feelings. Fear, surprise, and intrigue. An odd combination.