A man stands at the inn and hands out flyers

[Riskae]

~~In the forest of Promethia~~
Blood stains the hands of a man in the darkness, he stands among the cool stones of a jagged cave wall his eyes shining crimson in the darkness a symbol of blood etched at his feet. The soft timbre of his chant bounced off the stone walls as creatures rose from the depths to view his actions. As the black figure rose before him he whispered commands to it in a language long lost to human ears, with that it faded and all grew silent. "I must return to the king less he realize my absence" the black man spoke to the dark walls, with that he wiped his hands against the course robe which he promptly discarded, then walked calmly from the cave into the open air of the forest and began the short trek home. Features marked by a dark smile which never once left his lips.

~~At the Inn~~
The sky above the inn darkens as in a coming storm, animals flee in fear as the clouds reach to the earth as if atlas had dropped his mighty burden. Where the clouds touch the earth a dark figure begins to take form a black ghost appears on the the ground as the clouds return to the air. His sharp whispers pierce the air as he descends among the earth, "This be a poor guild of little power, the true mages lie in the depths, they gather magic most close to the void, magic of which hands such as this could never hope to wield. The true Mage Guild is of greater power and number and shan't be even measured by such a phony being as thee. The true guild shall lie forever and always in the hands of the Ilians."