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The night was still, with not a single ripple tainting the tranquil serenity of the lake as Varrus sat hunched over his looking glass watching the group of wizards and officials standing on the far shore. Just a single lamp illuminated them against the dark of the night and he strained to see what was happening as at their centre he could make out two rectangular crates of identical appearance, one stacked on top of the other. As he watched he saw one of the wizards open the lid on the top crate to reveal its contents to those present. Though he couldn’t make out the contents from where he was positioned, he knew they were looking at the sword Nu’ra, for he had overheard his wizard brethren hatching their plan only two days previous and he knew for certain that the second crate would be empty. The officials however, did not.
Varrus cursed the treachery of his brethren as a rustling from the nearby undergrowth alerted him to Durwin’s return. He had few friends left now the wizards had played their hand and while Durwin was not the brightest of accomplices, he was fiercely loyal and possessed a talent for magic that his intelligence didn’t suggest. Even more useful perhaps, was his knowledge of the secret arts of the Order of the Raging Torrent, for amongst such knowledge Varrus knew there was an ancient spell that would prove most useful later in the evening in gaining some small amount of revenge upon his brethren.
A little more rustling and eventually Durwin emerged from the undergrowth. Varrus glared at him, “Could you make any more noise?” he hissed as his bumbling companion sat down.
“Sorry.”
“Well you’d better be – you’re making me miss the best bit!”
Durwin sat in uncomfortable silence as Varrus continued to look out across the lake to where the magical locks which would protect the crates were being constructed. In magical union four mages of the Council sat in silence, knitting a tight weave about the crates that none save the most powerful of mages could hope to unlock. Varrus grimaced as he watched them intently, scrutinising the slightest of vagaries of expression discernable on their faces in the poor light. They had betrayed him twice now: first in failing to unite against their common enemy and now in stealing one of the swords that he himself had had a hand in forging.
His course was now set: he would take the second sword as his own.
As he looked through the glass he could see the wizards were now in the process of wrapping chains round the crates to keep them securely bound to the bottom of the lake which they would shortly enter, but Varrus had little interest in watching such activities. Slowly, he passed the looking glass to Durwin who was by now getting impatient for his turn and received the looking glass eagerly. “Let Durwin have his small amount of fun,” he thought to himself dryly, “let him have his fun.” There would be a good many hours yet before the wizards were gone from this place and he would have to be patient for he needed to keep his companion compliant and willing to complete the task that would soon follow. “Yes, let him have his fun…”
Slowly an hour passed them by and the wizards finished their proceedings on the shore, erecting a large force bubble about the entire group to protect them from the lake before heading out into the water with the crates to disappear beneath its surface. The two companions sat in uncomfortable silence as they waited, both knowing that they would have to wait for the right moment to act. Now though was not the time; they would have to wait for the wizards to leave.
Another hour passed.