The air rippled, as though something were heating it. Thin waves of distorting haze that broke the early evening light into curlicues and rivulets of colour. Cobbled stones scintillated and shifted, tiny growths emerging from them, emitting spores that drifted lazily like dust motes in a beam of sunlight. And yet there was insufficient light to be illuminating these tiny particles.


The distortion spread out across the concourse. Wooden beams of houses changed colour, window panes seemed to leer expectantly. From somewhere distant there came a clamour of voices and the faintest hint of music. But it was a tune that one could not quite capture.


A swarm of shapes burst forth from the ground. Bat-like, tiny chimerae, rising and spinning around in a wild dance of concentrated activity. As individuals separated from the vortex-like swarm in the centre, their small bodies warped and twisted. New shapes arose from them as they moved further out. One sprouted several yard-long spidery legs and straddled the buildings on either side of the street. Another burst into a ball of pale green fluff that rose higher and higher into the evening air. Still more dropped their wings and fell to the cobblestones, shuffling, scampering, crawling and oozing their way into the urban landscape.


Many more forms took shape. Most of them becoming ghostlike and fading as they spread out like an infectious cloud into the city; but some remained intact. Soon, all were gone. The ripples ceased and a blurred figure emerged from where the swarm had been, leaving behind a small crater-like hole in the ground. As the figure came into focus, all clad in black, he gestured behind him. The remaining cobblestones seemed to pull themselves inward, like a sheet being drawn over a bed. By the time the figure had left the alley, no trace remained of his passing.


He moved through narrow streets, nose wrinkling as two powerful aromas competed for dominance. That of raw sewage running through open drains and that of the nearby harbour. Both were powerful contenders, but as the dark-clad man approached the docks, the latter smell seemed to win-out, for the time-being at least.


It was early evening, but he noticed that drunken men and women sprawled on the cobbles already. One man groaned and muttered something in his unconscious state, causing the visitor to stop and look at him quizzically. For several moments the standing figure seemed to flicker and become almost translucent, while the sleeping drunk thrashed and twitched, then became calm. The younger man bent down, dropped a silver coin into the sleeper's pocket and nodded in thanks, then he straightened up and continued on his way.


Moments later, he was entering the vibrant glow of the Winking Mermaid, Adeluna's most famous drinking establishment. He slipped, almost unnoticed between patrons, reached the bar and leaned against it. Running a well-manicured hand over the sticky wood, he tapped it gently with his forefinger. It was not enough to make any sound, but the barmaid closest to him reacted as though he had hammered loudly on the wooden top. She turned with a start, then looked confused for a moment until she became aware the young man in fine-but-simple clothes and somewhat unkempt hair, was smiling gently at her.


“I would like…” He frowned, his thick foreign accent indicating he was having difficulty with the local tongue. He blinked, then met the woman's eyes for a moment. Again, she appeared confused, before seeming to come to her senses with a nod. “Of course dearie, a fine red from the vineyards of the eastern country for a gentleman like yourself.” The man smiled and nodded with relief, then turned away from the bar, taking in his surroundings with a searching eye.


While he waited for his wine, he produced a coin as though performing a conjuror's trick. It appeared between thumb and forefinger, then placed it on the bar next to him. The coin was not of metal, but instead fashioned from a dark green stone and marked with strange symbols that were of no script known to an Adelunan. In the centre of the coin was a square hole. The barmaid brought his wine in a wooden cup, but he raised a hand, before she could return to her duties. In his hand were several silver coins. “Leave bottle and bring other cup please.” The barmaid obliged.


Mendean leaned back against the bar and retrieved the coin, then began to roll it across his knuckles like a thimblerigger, back and forth. He smiled expectantly to himself, sipping from the cup that he held in his other hand.

[Back from my hiatus!]

Patterns. That was the way of chaos. Finding patterns in the flux of reality. For one who knew, it was a simple matter to pull threads in the weave, unravel specific wave functions of probability and then stand back to see what happened. Sometimes a desired effect ensued. In the hands of an amateur, such meddling only produced more chaos.

Many thought of this force as magic, but to a god who's domain was chaos and dreams, it was simply a thing that was. Anyone could do what he did, if they could perceive the firmament in the way that he did. There was no real magic, or even mystery. All it required was concentration, and patience.

As he watched elements slip into place, a number of patterns began to emerge. Lines of force contained within the hub of potential that was this tavern. Something was going to happen here tonight, and from it would emerge something new. What that might be, the god was not entirely certain. But he could taste it in the air.

A new ingredient to the recipe arrived. A wild card. Perfect. Mendean watched the elven figure as he entered the Winking Mermaid, somewhat trepidatiously. Elves of all kinds tended to react in the same way when they entered a human drinking establishment. Usually either distaste and aloofness, or very cautiously. For some reason, they were rarely comfortable.

Quickly pocketing the unusual coin, Mendean picked up the other cup and held the bottle of wine close to his chest, using his forearm. Weaving through the crowd, he made his way over to the table where the red-headed elf was seated. He half-stumbled onto the chair opposite, plonking the bottle and wooden cup on the table, while taking a gulp of his own drink. “Sorry, could not find other chair. You mind?” said Mendean in broken Adelunan. His command of the local tongue was not good and he hoped the elf would speak something he understood better.

He narrowed his eyes at Aviren, as though noticing him for the first time. All a part of the act. “You elf? Where from?”

Mendean grinned to himself, recalling several years of study that had been required to learn the elvish languages. Being such a long-lived people, their languages varied significantly less than those of humans. In many cases, any elf from any other part of the world could at the very least, get-by in an encounter with foreign brethren.

As rusty as he was with the southern Caneluxian dialects of the elvish tongue, Mendean recalled that he spoke the Virens forest dialect with more than a passing competence. It would have to do. He cleared his throat.“I am from far off land of Parvpora. South lands,” spoke the god in Virens. It was different to the tongue spoken by those further south, but hopefully he was making himself understood. “You elves understand wine. This is cheap sh*t, but passable.”

Lifting the bottle, he let the red liquid glug out of the neck and into the empty cup, then refilled his own. He pushed the wooden drinking vessel across the table with a clumsy motion that threatened to spill the wine. Miraculously, not a drop fell out. He smiled and indicated the cup with a nod. “You are not like others here. I am not like others either. We drink to that. Celebrate difference. Živjeli!” Mendean held up his cup expectantly, then downed the contents, wiped his sleeve across his mouth and picked up the bottle, ready to pour again.

All around him he could feel the crackle of potential. Something was going to happen soon. He did not know what, but he knew he had to witness it. Somehow it would be significant in the future.

In the meantime, he turned his attention to Aviren. “So, why an elf like you end up here in city like this?”