No rest for the wicked...

Flames roared and consumed about him. Quel'ngia Xelthalas watched as a young elven boy screamed in terror, running for his life. The wail alerted the orcish brigands who sought to cause this mayhem. One signaled for two others to follow him as they hunted their pray. The boy ran to him, dead straight in his path. The Talarian archmage knelt down to catch the boy, and to defend him from his saboteurs, but the boy ran through him.

And then he realized, as he would whenever he reached this part of the memory cycle; a dream if you will. The little boy, with the raven black hair and green eyes was him. As soon as the realization came to him, he would open his eyes. It was that time again. He stood, fetching a robe from his dresser and wrapping it around him. As he peered out the window of his spire penthouse bedroom, he noticed the moon that swept around Berkatan was not to be found. Once every 4th cycle, the moon would be nowhere to be found. Memories of long ago would be in its place. Quel's reverie was finished for the night, unfortunately. He traversed to his study, to where he cinched up his schedule for the day's classes.