Opalina (prime)/The Night Before

The Night Before

This is a creative work set in the world of Elanthia, attributed to its original author(s). It does not necessarily represent the official lore of GemStone IV.

Title: The Night Before

Author: Opalina Jalcon

From the journals of Opalina Jalcon- 1-26-2002

The wind always speaks differently before something terrible happens.

Most folk hear only the cold sighs rolling down from the glacier or the chatter of merchants trying to pretend the world is ordinary. I hear something else. A hesitation. A breath held by the town itself.

I began my evening as I often did, greeting friends through the comforting thread of thought that binds so many of us together. Wishing everyone well. Smiling at familiar voices. Wandering the streets of Icemule while life carried on around me as if tomorrow were promised.

It was almost enough to convince me.

Almost.

The Town Center still bustled with laughter. Halflings argued over herbs, children darted between travelers, and companions embraced as though nothing could ever reach us within these icy walls. Yet beneath every greeting lingered the same unspoken question.

Will tonight be the night?

I wandered the taverns and the market streets, searching for answers I already knew no one possessed. The Nightowl was warm, filled with music and conversation, but even there I found no comfort. Everywhere I looked, people smiled a little too brightly. Laughed a little too loudly.

Fear wears many disguises.

Eventually my feet carried me to the bank where I found Keriddwen. A simple embrace from a friend steadied my heart far more than any blessing ever could.

She spoke quietly of the Nine.

Of the tomb.

Of the signs from the previous night—fire falling from the heavens, strange portents, whispers that the next moon would bring their return.

I wanted to believe she was wrong.

I wanted someone—anyone—to laugh and dismiss it as another rumor born from frightened minds.

Instead, everyone seemed to be waiting.

Even Sheka's infernal fox found amusement in our worry. It mocked my faith, mocked my hope, mocked the very idea that anyone could save us. Every growl dripped with certainty that we would all become little more than discarded shells for the Essence to claim.

Perhaps another would have answered with anger.

I could not.

"I would rather my body be blown away," I told the creature, "than allow it to be used for the destruction of this town."

Those words surprised even me.

Once spoken, they became truth.

I have never been the strongest among us. I have never been the fiercest warrior, nor the mightiest spellcaster. I am only Opalina—a rogue who has survived by quiet feet, quick hands, and a stubborn refusal to surrender.

But if I had to choose between my life and Icemule...

There was never truly a choice.

Keriddwen reminded me that the people of Icemule knew my heart.

I prayed she was right.

Because hearts are all we truly have when darkness comes.

As the evening deepened, I slipped away from the crowds. While others gathered in anticipation, I preferred silence. Shadows have always welcomed me more readily than cheering voices.

I crept through Commerce Burrow, hiding more from my own thoughts than from prying eyes. The forest accepted me without question. Snow muffled every footstep as I wound between towering pines, careful, deliberate, letting instinct guide me toward the old cemetery.

Every branch seemed to lean closer.

Every gust carried whispers.

By the time I reached the mausoleum, the world felt impossibly still.

The chamber beneath the great tomb waited exactly as I remembered it.

Cold.

Silent.

The heavy planks sealing the passage below stood reinforced with iron bars, ancient runes etched above them by hands long gone. Whoever sealed that doorway had wanted whatever lay beneath to remain forgotten.

I stared at those boards for what felt like an eternity.

Could wood truly imprison evil?

Could runes hold back hatred?

Could faith?

From my pocket I withdrew the small carved fragment of wood I had carried for days. It had been taken from sacred ground and blessed with protective words. I turned it over in my fingers, tracing the rough knots carved into its face.

"I wonder..."

My voice echoed softly through the empty chamber.

"...if it could be added to the door to help keep the Essence in."

The question lingered unanswered.

Perhaps it was foolish.

Perhaps it was only hope dressed as desperation.

Still...

Hope has a way of surviving long after reason has fled.

I rubbed the little carving between my fingers, drawing comfort from its worn surface. Outside, thoughts drifted through the amulets of distant friends. They spoke of moonrise. Of attacks. Of midnight. Of endings.

Everyone waited.

So did I.

Alone beneath the ancient tomb, surrounded by silence older than memory, I offered one final prayer—not for victory, nor glory, nor even survival.

Only that, when the darkness finally came...

...I would have the courage to stand between it and the people I had come to call home.