It was the midnight hour, just after Ivory had slipped off to dreams, that the rock crashed through her window and clattered across the wood floor. She could hear a commotion outside, a fearful sound full of hatred and torchlight, the shadows of farm tools (hoes, pitchforks, sickles) dancing on the far wall of her room, held aloft above a sea of human shadows. Were she to go to her window, she would see that the street below was absolutely choked by a mob which had surrounded her door and was screaming for her head. They were screaming blood thirsty slogans, some of which reached her ears and gave her context for this scene: "Begone filth!" "Not in our town!" "Kill the Anathema!"<br/><br/>How her nature had been revealed it was no longer important. What was important now was a surge of murderous intent, this one very different from the force that could be produced by any mortal in the mob. The sound of the downstairs door splintering inward and a tidal rush of voices and footsteps below her, making for the stairs, and the Mists of Eventide starting to creep in through the cracks in the wall of the adjacent room. A sorcerer was nearby! And were those mists to reach Ivory, she would surely die.<br/>