The decayed foot, gray with age and dry as salted earth, sent small clouds of dust into the ancient, stale air as it touched the floor. Undisturbed for so many years, the tomb should have been a shrine of silence and solitude. Instead, a creature lurked within. A creature recently awakened. A creature that filled that tomb, a structure built for mourning, with a palpable wicked glee. How many years had it been? The thing did not know. All it did know was that it’s gambit had worked. It’s destiny was truly at hand. It’s burning, red eyes provided the only illumination. It found it’s way to the tomb door and pushed. The heavy granite slab slid outward and sent a resonating scrape throughout the chamber. Moonlight now prevailed. The creature stood on a precipice, the slab off to one side. It’s skin pulled tight across it’s old skull. It’s hands had no muscle left but the bones beneath the skin could move. It was clothed as a king, though aged and faded. A crown ringed it’s head. It laughed a howling fury. Sounds of bestial joy echoed in the valley below. It reached down to it’s waist to draw it’s blade but grasped only the mountain air. Slowly, the laughter transformed from the howling fury. Only rage remained. Warm breath died in a white cloud of frost as it escaped the mouth of Poe. Though only about five feet tall, Poe moved over the snow covered forest floor like a deer. In fact, it was a white tailed deer with which he was keeping pace. A polished wooden bow in one hand held a knocked arrow with cardinal feathers.His long pointed ears were tipped pink, a testament to the chill morning. A dark green jerkin held his bloused brown shirt tightly to his body. Leather breeches laced down the side ended in soft soled boots of animal skin. A simple deerskin mantle was worn for warmth. Poe’s large eyes barely wavered from his target as he vaulted a fallen tree. Though his leap was at least four feet in the air, the landing was soundless. Poe was at home in the woods. He fell to one knee as he landed. The white tail may have noticed him. It stopped suddenly and froze. It’s head moved from side to side, ears working back and forth, trying to sense any danger. When it was sure nothing was near, it turned to a goldberry bush and started nibbling. For the first time that morning, Poe saw the deer in full. The beast was a prize. At least ten spikes crowned it’s head. Very large in the shoulders, fatted haunches. It was a prize. Poe brought the bow up and sighted his green eye down the cardinal feathered shaft. As though it were one fluid motion, Poe released the string the instant the bow became level. To the naked eye of a man, it may have appeared that he had not even aimed. To the eyes of a skilled elven hunter, Poe may have hesitated. The shaft split the air and thudded heavily into the deer’s chest. Blood and wood exploded out the other side of the deer. On instinct, the deer raised it’s white shocked tail and sprang into the air. Long, leaping strides carried it from the place of it’s breakfast tot he place of it’s death. In truth, the deer was not running out of fear or pain. The deer was dead. It’s body had just not quit yet. This was what Poe admired most about the white tails. They never gave up, even after death. It took only twenty minutes for Poe to find his prey. It lay on a bed of snow under a soft green pine. Quickly and carefully, Poe cleaned the deer and tied together a simple brace with which to drag it. He lifted the brace and began the long walk to Harad’s. Vilchek tromped snow flat with one huge foot. He was a giant. Nearly thirteen feet tall, Vilchek was the shortest out of the five giants.