Chapter 1

The Stranger

Drip... Drip ...Drip

The hatchling Jarok bit down forcefully with his scaly snout, a long piece of twine stuck in his maw, his visage in a fierce grimace. Silently, he submerged his black head, and gracefully started swimming towards the underwater channel out of Cabalis. Clamped firmly in tow, a long strand of rope tied to a dwarf-sized barrel that had been left in the Cabalis waterway by some careless Klok. Jarok struggled mightily with the first sweep of his long arms and slowly progressed into a rhythm perfected through a thousand like pulls.

His seventh pull of the day, Jarok muscles were taut and twitched vigorously. His goal was to get the last barrel to the underwater vortex, where all the garbage would be flushed deep into Warslik Woods, and beyond that, the vast waterway of Timorous Deep.

This young iksar has spent the better part of 7 years keeping the Cabalis waterways clear of crates, barrels, and refuse. Hatched from an inconspicuous grouping of eggs, Jaroks lot in life was manual labor and monotonous movements. Neither strong, quick, nor sturdy, Jarok was forced into the channel sweeping position by the Toilmaster, who gave out like tasks to the ordinary hatchlings of the Empire.

Under Cabalis caste system, Jarok was not destined to battle for the mighty Iksar Empire. Genetically, Jarok was physically inferior. His tail was shorter than most of his brethren. The length and girth of tails on all hatchlings were measured early in their lives, theoretically offering a more balanced and efficient body structure for combat. Those with the most prominent appendages were shuttled into the melee schools of the empire, training them to explore and defend the spacious lands near the capital city.

But a short tail was wonderful for maneuvering through sharp watery turns....

Swish, swish, swish...

Perhaps Jarok greatest attributes were mental rigidity and an uncanny ability to look past his daily drudgery and complete his tasks with unparalleled focus. Day in and day out, Jarok was the first and last hatchling to begin and end his daily sweeping. When others got distracted by newly discovered insect hives or were preoccupied tormenting a goblin torchbearer who fell into one of the Cabalis many cisterns, Jarok would proceed unblinkingly. Neither love nor passion compelled him, but more of an unexplainable desire to feel whole by completing his tasks. It was this imperfect discipline that kept him mentally and physically even. That and his short tail.

One day, Jaroks fate would change. As he was maneuvered through the western waterways of town, Jarok meandered passed the Dark Temple. This temple was without light and without sound. Unexplainably, this area of the city rarely held refuse of any kind. The dark water seemed more ominous and still then the rest of the busier thoroughfares. The air was heavier and moister, and the aroma was that of spices and dust. Surprisingly, as Jaroks small red eyes were peering out of the water, measuring the height of this shadowy structure, he noticed a small cask bobbing against a bent ladder. He raised his head a bit, his ears surfacing slightly.

Clink, clink, clink.

Ever diligent to his task, Jarok sped efficiently towards the cask, barely expending any energy. As his clawed hands grabbed the rough edged cask, a raspy voiced hissed to him, "Young one, you toil and toil everyday, and yet sseem to never complete your tasksss, for yet another day bringss yet more rubbish. Do you not wish to ssee your effortsss be rewarded in ssome way?"

Jarok peered where the voice came from and saw a smallish robed figure crouched at the top of the side of the ladder. Bright yellow eyes beamed out at him from underneath a dark red velvety hood. Jarok paused, cocked his head as if straining, and slowly licked the moisture from the creases of his eyes with his long scaly tongue. Again, the raspy voice uttered at Jaroks inaction.

"Come brooding... let me tell you of our sstory. Hsss...."

Jarok took one long look at the cask, and caressed the wood lovingly. He then placed it down and rested it against the ladder, bobbing once again. and proceeded upwards. He followed the robe figure into the dimly lit alcove of the Tower entrance. He never looked back.