Rain pounded the windswept glen, filling its loch to overflowing and illuminating the churning waters with repeated flashes of blinding, white lightning. The storm had lasted for many days, moving from the north to cover this enclosed vale ringed by sheer, spiky mountains, and lashing the area with what an onlooker must assume was the wrath of some angry titan. And suddenly, as sudden as the pale electric flicker of an earthbound fork of light could be, the rain began to outline and pool around a lone, gasping figure who had appeared from nothingness to lay upon the loch's muddy bank.

The figure, humanoid at a glance, lay there even as the deluge began to dwindle, and the clouds to part and wither away into a clear, starlit, new-moon sky. Surely, no natural wind could disperse such a storm so quickly, but there were no witnesses to the event aside from the nude, white-skinned male who rose slowly from the mud. And though he should have been covered in the wet soil all around, instead he seemed untouched, and was suffused with a subtle, pale skinglow akin to the absent moons of RhyDin. Sharp ears rose from hair so blonde it was almost white, and dark chips of amber viewed the surrounding night with a slow, considering turn of his head. "Thought so," he murmured, the tones emerging as a warm breeze after summer rain, more musical than even most elven speech.

For though he appeared an elf at casual glance, one of the many children of the wood, he was certainly more than that. Sent by Powers and demi-urges from a plane humans called Elysium, and many elves called Arvandor, he was here because there were rules amongst the divine, and direct intercession was forbidden. Agents, angels indeed, were perforce required to do their patron's work in the mortal planes, and this apparent elflord had been such an agent for longer than several humans' lifetimes. He was an elf still, yet something more, akin to their nature upon passing from the lands of men. It took but little manipulation of the Nexus by a careful Power to send such beings to RhyDin, and attracted no notice from other Powers therefore. And it was the nature of this being's existence that he seldom knew where his work would take him before he was sent there and forced to assume base physicality; foreknowledge, like true intercession, was a cosmic no-no.

It was those same divine rules that prevented him from being sent with any equipment or clothing; it could be done, but it would attract too much notice by hostile entities, and imperil the balance that must needs exist between the various forces of the multiverse. This part of the 'descent' to RhyDin was distinctly unpleasant in fact, as one had to become accustomed, and quickly, with the needs of a mortal body - food, clothing, and shelter at minimum. Fortunately the elf-being, called by those who knew him here 'Shadow', took it upon himself to specialize in surviving such harsh climes as the mortal world provided. He was a ranger, had been since long before he was chosen for Arvandor's work, and would never forget how to live from the land's bounty.

The nature of Shadow's work required good planning, and as such he generally kept equipment caches on the worlds he was required to visit; RhyDin was no exception. With a homing instinct long-ingrained, the pale figure made his way in a beeline for one such cache, between the glen of his current landfall and the city of RhyDin to the north. Time to such a creature was arbitrary, immaterial, but he was glad to reach his hidden store just before dawn rose, and chased night away with brilliant radiance; 'twas best to be clothed when encountering strangers in these parts, and protection didn't hurt. Finding the telltale lightning-struck oak that he preferred for his worldly hiding spots, with a murmur and gentle touch he exhorted the old treetrunk to part, reaching into the breach to withdraw a long, oilskinned bag which clinked slightly when moved.

Within were the tools of his trade, a longbow wrapped in yet another layer of oiled leather, two tightly coiled bowstrings, and a sealed deerhide quiver which held twenty of those arrows required for hunting. Scabbarded in plain, suede-wrapped wood were two scimitars of an ancient elven design, the hilts wrapped in smooth, worn leather and blades of steel forge-quenched in the purest of springs. Clothing was there too, a full-body suit of leather that served as both garb and armor, and a dark verdigris cloak complete with shrouding hood. Knee-high boots with soft soles, pulled on after he'd donned the rest, completed the ruggedly elegant ensemble.

He rose to his full height then, a small smile teasing the corners of angular mouth, and surveyed the forested northward terrain. In that direction lay the famous city of RhyDin, and no doubt further information as to his goals here; his patron Powers never failed to leave the appropriate signs at the appropriate times, though it was up to the agent to recognize them. It was part of the game, a game which Shadow loved well, and which involved defending and nurturing the gentle beings of nature and neutralizing those evil threats which all too frequently found entrance to the middle earths to perform their foul works. Like a smiling flicker, an unconfirmed glimpse, the agent was on his way through the wildwood toward old haunts. He had no doubt the Red Dragon Inn was still standing, and there would he take up residence once more after years of celestial respite. It was good to be back.

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