In the deep desert town of Khayaban, at the top of a great hill, Cerebus sat and listened to his clanmates speak long into the night. They gathered here often at the mage shop, with its warm lamps and trickling fountain of fresh water that welled up from the earth below. The stars were bright and the winds were cool and smooth. Half a dozen warriors and mages sat about, breathing in the night and discussing their recent battle scars, horned helms and various other new items. The occasional scuffle would break out between them and then settle back down with a grimace from Karnak, the herald of Cerebus, and keeper of the peace in these meetings. No one would question there loyalties if they came up and looked into any of there eyes, except for Cerebus, the Duke himself.

His gaze flashed from person to person quickly until they fell on Lady Nite Mist. She sat quietly with the most powerful swordswoman on the southernmost provinces, Panna, and a whelp of a mage, Scathain
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Lady Mist held herself with a stately attitude, with a cunning beauty that served her just as well as Panna's sword did in many ways. Cerebus studied them closely and felt a pang of hate well up. He wondered what they spoke off and what poison must be spreading through his clan. Suddenly his face felt flush, he grabbed at his chest and leaned against the sandstone wall of the mage's shop. A flash of clarity washed through his mind and the hate succeeded quickly. His eyes grew dim and his heart pounded, fear had taken him, fear of what was to become of his clan, fear of what he was feeling and why? As he shifted his weight back and pulled at his hauberk he felt a familiar softness run down his arm.The lady Miette had glimpsed his sudden motion. She had moved to his side quickly and quietly. She was a cornerstone for not just her duke, but for her friends as well. Her powers of magic were based in her passion and compassion. She brushed her long blonde hair back from her face, and tried her best to unfurrow her brow. Cerebus reached down to clasp her hand and give her a reassuring look, but she had felt her love's sudden change, just as she would that of her own heart. No mere look from him would halt her intense concern at this point. They stood enigmatic, looking at each other in uncomfortable silence, but at that very moment a shrieking cry pierced the air. An aged crackling voice whipped through the crowd. " The forever winter draws Nigh" the old man cried. He fell to his knees at the center of the yard and grasped a strange orb in his hands. His dark skinned glistened in the night and his eyes were like small sparks of green, he wore simple desert clothes and had cloud white hair that framed his chin. A ghostly air was about him now. "I have come to see what has drawn such dark attention. You shall answer my questions and we shall see, why the dankness claws at thee." He took in a deep breath and gave a slight cackle, as if to challenge the crowd that now stood in wonder at this strange new visitor.