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[Exelioth]

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The Rangers Hut just upon the eastern side of Skara Brae were enveloped in flame.

Just don't see me...please.

Zeych crouched beneath the dock as close as his obese form would allow. From here, he had witnessed several of the elder kin burned at the hands of the insurgents. Whomever they were, the Western Approach of rangers clearly had nothing to offer as a defense.

Pressing his face into the mud to avoid detection, Zeych's young eyes fell upon the one solid shape that stood out against the cloud of death that enveloped his people. The being stood six foot five easy; long locks of shimmering silver hair eminating from a skull adorned by a tattered bandana...a bandana that covered eyes once exposed to a history some would sell thier soul to witness firsthand.

"Come out boy. Despite roundear rumors, I won't kill you on sight."

Zeych felt his salmon lunch revisit his palette for a moment, then swallowed hard. He was too terrified to move, and even if he overcame his fear, his svelte form would allow for little more that a pre-game dance to some predatory meal. Embracing his fate, Zeych gave in to the concept the someone can simply be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Yes?"

Zeych looked upon his would-be prosecutor. A menacing, towering blindman. He did not reach about awkwardly, nor did his posture betray a lack of balance. The giant spoke evenly.

"Where was your friend taken?"

A massive, white owl circled overhead. The blindman, as if hearing the wingbeats raised his gaze up. "Yes, I'm sure he is fine. The ivory owl cawked in protest.

Rubbing the area where the bandana crossed his eyes, the stranger mumbled loudly. "He will be fine. Now, if you have nothing better to do, I prefer to see to my task in solitude!" The owl blinked twice, then dismissed. Zeych, overcome by hunger pains coupled with a fear of death, emerged. Worse off, he spoke. "What are you?"

The figure turned to the chubby youth. Zeych was smart enough to know when to be a smartass, and when to keep his mouth shut and absorb. The latter logic took hold, hard.

"I am Adaron of the Last Order of the Atalan, and I have been charged to train..."

Adaron culled his statement. After all, if there was a constant Tenebrous had instilled upon all of the Atalan during his tenure amongst the mortals, it was a simple one:

No roundear can be trusted.
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"Beware the fury of a patient man."