Loatonial watched the sun fall behind the glassy sea, and from her window-which was high in the fortress walls-she imagined the arrival of her aid. Of all the Kings, Chiefs, and thieves that she called upon, she knew that she could rely on two men for help:  Falkor the Viking-who was not known for his mercy, and a man people called Swift Death. Both of these men were more than capable of giving her what she wanted, but then again, they might be too capable, and much too willing to kill without regard to anyone else or anything. She would need to let these men know who was in charge of this plan. And if they rebelled against her? Well, they would meet her fury.<br/>The only man, or elf, who would die was going to be her uncle.<br/>Everyone else would be left alone.<br/>A sigh escaped the Dark Elf's lips as she turned away from the window, for her thoughts had led her to her almost husband-Peter. Sorrow and guilt started to grip her heart and cause her tears to fall down her face, but she shut her eyes and shook her head in an effort to push those thoughts aside. Now was not the time for memories. Now was the time for her to ride out and meet the kingdoms who were coming to her aid. After she had finished packing, she pinned a cloak around her neck and snuck down to the stables where she soon took off down the cobblestone road and headed off to the shore line.<br/>In her letters that she sent out, she specified that each leader meet her in the 'The Lonely Sprite', an Inn that lay just a block away from the docks. She would be sitting by a table next to the firepit, sipping a dark red wine and waiting.