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  Trygor is a land in peace. It has been this way for centuries after the Dark Children were entombed in their prison. Only now is the peace threatened. The five Crystals needed to release the trapped terrors have been replicated and now all that is needed is the Staff of Xandra to complete the key that will unleash the evil once again.
   The Changelings, an ancient race of immortal beings, hold the Staff and the man who is destined to try to stop the Dark Children lives amongst them. He is the only one who can psychically connect with the Staff and locate the original crystals to return them to their rightful place seated within it. Can he succeed on his quests and be forever named as one of the Trygor Legends.

Chapter 1

   The warm glow brought a smile to Langard's thin lips. Creases in the pale skin on his face widened as he saw the result of years of hard work finally coming to fruition.
   He was mesmerised, paralysed with inaction from the beauty of the scene before him. Multiple colours danced around the cave, shadows playing on the craggy rock faces. The majesty of the five elemental crystals was all encompassing and held him there in a reverie that would have lasted for all eternity if Heron hadn't entered the cave when he did.
   Heron stopped in his tracks when he saw the scene. His mind enveloped by the glow.
  Langard was brought round with a vicious bump by the interruption and spat out,
   "What do you want?"
   Heron jumped back as though someone had thrown something at him and shook his head.
   "The council has requested an update on your work." Looking back at the glowing, enticing crystals he said, "I see you have finally succeeded."
   Langard, with a furious anger leapt at Heron and with his claw like hands, pinned him to the wall by the throat.
   "If you dare tell the council my news I will come round to your dwelling one dark night and cut out your intestines and hang you from the rafters with them. The news is mine to give and no one else’s. Understand!"
   The terror in Heron's eyes told Langard what he wanted to know, but Heron confirmed it.
   "I...won't...say a word."
   Heron dropped to the floor as Langard's grip was released. Langard walked over to the crystals and began to cover them with the Raelon sheet.
   "Tell the council I will be there in one hour."
   "Yes, my Lord." Heron scrambled to his feet and ran as fast as his legs would take him.
   The hour slid by as Langard prepared himself for his audience with the council. His human servant bathed him and then dressed him in his finest attire. Bright red and yellow silk garments from the farthest reaches of the Trygor lands. They fitted his Ogre body like a second skin, a body that he was proud of.
   He looked at himself in the mirror. His grey, wrinkled skin sparked with colour from his bright clothes. He noticed the grey strands that weaved their way through his short knot of hair.
   "Human!" he bellowed. "Bring me the worm paste!"
   The bag of bones that masqueraded as a human female, the latest in a long line of human servants Langard had owned, scampered to a shelf at the far end of the room. Picking up a large wooden casket she scampered back favouring her left leg since Langard threw her across the room when she recently spilt water over his foot.
   With her head lowered she opened the casket and offered it up to Langard who scooped out a handful of dark brown paste and rubbed it in his hair. A few seconds later he checked in the mirror again. His brown razor-like teeth showed as he smiled his satisfaction at the image looking back at him.
   "Hands!" he snorted.
   The human hobbled over to a table that contained a bowl of water and returned to Langard. She began to wash his hands. Once finished and dried Langard pushed her away and took one more look in the mirror.
   "Now for the council," he said.

Chapter 2

   The large wooden building stood on its own in the enclave. Decorated with jewels, offerings from the many raids the Ogre armies made in the one hundred years they had been there, it glistened in the midday sun.
   The entrance towers overshadowed every wooden dwelling within the enclave walls and displayed the limits to the Ogres building skills. Atop the towers were lookouts that could see across the land outside. A land that consisted of arid desert to the south with a mountain range fifteen miles in the distance. The enclave had been constructed at the edge of the thin desert amongst a rocky terrain, beneath which was the elements that the crystals were created from.
   Langard walked towards the bejewelled building and grunting at the guards as he walked through the open door. The Sharp blades of their tall Staff weapons half blinded him with the reflection from the sun as though they were aimed at him on purpose. The shadows of the entrance relieved him of the uncomfortable light.
   Within the cover, stairwells ascended to the tops of the towers on either side of him and in front of him a solid wooden door, reaching to one and a half times his own height, stopped him from going any further. He raised his giant hand to pound on the obstruction, but it opened before he hit the wood.
   Cowering behind the door was a runt. Not quite a slave like the humans, but a lower form of Ogre that performed the menial tasks that Ogres saw as beneath them. Runts were usually deformed in birth and not fit for war.
   "Welcome, my Lord," came the feeble response to Langard's presence. "The Council await your arrival. Please come in. I will tell them at once that you are here."
   Langard drew his meaty lips back in disgust. He despised runts. He saw no use for them and thought they should have all been killed at birth.
   As he moved into the cool hallway and the door closed behind him he felt an ease, as though he'd come home. This will be his dwelling when the demons are his to command, he thought to himself.
   The wait was prolonged, he felt. On purpose, no doubt. The Council exerting their authority which, he conceded, will be no less than he will do when he finally takes control. And the depictions of war on the murals on the walls will be replaced with his own family's conquests. There is much to do when I take over, he mused.
   Finally the call came from the Runt.
   "The Council will see you now."
   Once again Langard displayed his disgust at the dis-formed figure in front of him. It was a mere glance as he couldn't bring himself to look at it for too long.
   The short walk to the doors of the Council chambers saw no-one except a few humans running their errands. The Runt dispersed to its menial chores keeping well away from him.
   At the entrance two guards stood. They carried no weapons. These were members of the Psychic Assassins. A group of Ogres blessed with psychic abilities and steeped in mystique, they provided personal protection for the Council at all times. Every Ogre feared them. Langard's fear of them had waned considerably over the last few days.
   As it was with the time Langard had previously seen the council, the assassins stood motionless. Not giving him a second look. Their heads were covered with a large hood that hid their faces.
   When Langard was young it was said the assassins had their eyes gouged out to prove they had the gift, for they had the ability to see with their mind. The hoods perpetuated that particular playground myth.
   Langard pushed open the double doors and entered the chambers.
   As on previous occasions the sight before him took his breath from his body for a second. The high vaulted ceiling displayed the history of ancient Ogre conquests. Depictions of Ogres impaling humans. Graphic details of torture scenes of Skeggs and Trolls in glorious colour. Army's on their mounts marching through long lost kingdoms.
   The scenes continued on down the walls where tapestry's hung, woven by human slaves. Each tapestry was twice the height of Langard and the rich colours had a joy inducing quality that took hold of anyone who looked at them.
   In the centre of the chamber was a large stone table set on a natural dais. It looked as though it grew up from the very rock it stood on. At its sides were eight high backed wooden chairs each with a council member sitting there. The head of the table was occupied by the leader of the council, Torendal, an Ogre who had lived through the great migration from the South nearly two hundred years ago.
   He was dressed in the traditional council raiment, a long flowing gown of brown human skin with jewels woven into the leather. Each of the other council members had the more formal plain white human skin gowns.
   Standing next to Torendal was Dango, the leader of the psychic assassins. Dango made his customary identification in Langard's mind who bowed his head slightly in recognition of the greeting. Immediately ignoring him, Langard turned to Torendal and the rest of the council. He stopped three metres from the stone table before speaking.
   "I bring the news we have all been waiting for. I have successfully created the elemental crystals required for the release of the dark children."
   An excited buzz reverberated around the table and Langard even noticed a slight movement from Dango. Was that excitement from the assassin, he thought?
   "They are even more beautiful and mesmerising than I could have ever imagined. My years of work down in the dark damp cave have paid off immeasurably. They await to be seated in their rightful place. The Staff of Xandra."
   Torendal stood with the aid of a wooden staff. His gnarled figure made him almost half the size of the assassin next to him.
   "Are you sure?" he said with a rasping voice. "Are you sure they have the qualities of the originals."
   Langard nodded.
   "Without a doubt, my Lord. I'm sure Dango here will be able to verify my work."
   Torendal turned slowly to Dango and then back to Langard.
   "He will, very soon. Now we must decide how we proceed. The Staff itself has been lost for centuries. The only place where it could possibly be is amongst the Changelings."
   An uneasy atmosphere replaced the excitement when the Changelings were mentioned.
   "I understand your worries, members of the council, but we knew this time would come. The Changelings have held a sacred place among the races of Trygor. Any attempt at interfering with their lives will be met with force. However, to release the dark children requires acquiring what the Changelings have or forcing them to create a replacement. If our plan succeeds no one will be able to respond quick enough for there to be a problem."
   Torendal looked around at the council members. He made eye contact with each one of them.
   "We have assurances from Dango here, that the Changelings will surrender the Staff or bend to his will and create a replica and we all know Dango's strengths."
   The atmosphere eased and a wry smile pursed Torendal's thin lips.
   "Good. It is settled. We march on the Changelings to claim the Staff and release a weapon that will see the Ogres finally claim their rightful place as leaders of all races of Trygor. Nothing and no-one will stand in our way and a new dawn will rise for this land."

Chapter 3

   The jagged edged sword skimmed off of the psychic shield enclosing Kaleb's body and buried itself in the root system of the tree he was trapped in. Fortunately he was able to manoeuvre his body, otherwise the descending weapon would have pierced his mind shield and he would have been dead now.
   Once again he tried to free his foot from the tangled roots. His sword was just out of his reach. The attacking Skegg was desperately pulling at its own sword to free it from the tree's life force, but it was as though the very tree itself was holding on to both sword and Kaleb's foot.
   'Release your footwear,' came through to Kaleb's mind.
   Immediately he released the strapping around his ankle and pulled on his leg. He fell backwards onto the soft moss covered ground as his foot came free.
   'Thank you, my friend,' he sent and then grabbed his sword and jumped to his feet.
   The Skegg had noticed Kaleb was free and gave up trying to release its own sword. It turned and pulled out two long blade daggers from strappings on its muscular thighs. A gurgling roar streamed from its beak-like mouth and it charged at Kaleb, daggers held high.
   Kaleb was ready and blocked the on-coming attack, deflecting the Skegg off to his left.
   'Behind you!'
   Kaleb turned with his sword ready as a second Skegg came rushing in. The Skegg was surprised to see Kaleb turn before it dealt its fatal blow and was caught with its sword held high ready to split Kaleb's head in two. Kaleb thrust forward piercing the Skegg's dark, flimsy armour and into its belly. He thrust upwards and with surprising strength lifted the seven foot Skegg off of the ground for a second before dropping it to the floor.
   The first Skegg was on the attack again and almost caught Kaleb on the arm with one of the long daggers. Once again his psychic shield prevented any damage and he immediately retaliated. Whipping his sword from the dead Skegg he swung it round and took the head off of the attacker in one clean cut.
   It rolled off into a small bush as the body dropped to its knees and fell forward onto the soft ground cover.
   Kaleb looked over at Shen. His Changeling companion was dealing expertly with another three Skeggs. Kaleb couldn't help but admire the graceful fighting skills of his friend. The fluidity of Shen's body movements and artistry of the final blows were a sight that any man should see at least once in his lifetime. The fact that the Changeling could change body shape at will just added to the spectacle.
   A hammer shaped fist snapped the head backwards of the final Skegg standing and took it clean off its feet. It didn't move once it hit the ground.
   'Any more close by, Shen?'
   'No, Kaleb. We have dealt with all that were in close proximity. Shall I communicate our position and time of arrival to the Deentar?'
   'Yes my friend. Give warning of the Skeggs we have dealt with. It's unusual for them to be this far from their native land and their group to be split like this. There will be more. You're Deentar's village is vulnerable at the moment.'
   In the courtyard, outside the council chambers building, a line of Ogres, mounted on their steeds waited for the order to march. They were dressed in the dark battle outfits that befitted any raid. Breastplates hung over their shoulders and strapped around their waists. Arm and shoulder guards rested snugly over their thick set limbs and thigh guards were secured over their muscular legs.
   Their steeds were getting restless, as rocksaurs were prone to do. They snapped and snarled at each other with snouts that were lined with sharp teeth.
   They stood three metres tall on their hind legs, half a metre taller than an Ogre. Their scaly skins were moist from oils that oozed through pores that connected to the scales via tubes the width of a human hair. Powerful fore and hind quarters ended in clawed hooves that could rip prey apart in the blink of an eye.
   For all of the ferocity of these creatures, the Ogres had managed to tame them.
   Twenty four Ogres, four of which were psychic assassins, forcibly brought their mounts under control. The snarls were soon drowned out by the growls from the riders.
   Twenty four, plus the leader, was the number for all Ogre raiding parties. They had found no village or small holding equipped enough to withstand the onslaught from this size of a party. There were also mystical qualities in the number for the Ogres that had been handed down over the centuries.
   Baran, a particularly grumpy Ogre, as Ogres go, came out of the council building alongside Torendal. Dango walked the other side.
   "If the Staff is with the Changelings, my Lord, we will find it." The deep sound from Baran's throat was loud enough to be heard by each of his raiding party. A statement of their goal that Baran liked for them to hear him reiterate in front of the council leader.
   "Either way, bring me a number of Changelings and secure their village. If a challenge is mounted from someone before we have the chance to release the dark children, then we have something to buy us time."
   "Baran!" said Dango. "Make sure they are alive."
   This irritated Baran. The scars on his face seemed to glow with the anger he was holding back. He knew what was expected of him and he knew Dango was just saying this to display his authority. He bit his tongue before replying, drawing a little blood with his sharp teeth. "Of course, my Lord. My warriors know what is at stake. They are well trained Ogres."
   A hundred metres away, fifteen metres above the ground on a walkway, stood Langard. He heard the exchange between Baran and Dango and smiled.
   "I think we have a mutual hatred of our friend Dango," he said to himself. "I may have use of your services in the near future."
   Baran parted from the two and leapt up onto his waiting rocksaur. It reared up and he yanked down on the reins to impose his will. The rocksaur settled down with an acknowledging snarl.
   He took one last look at Dango then kicked his steed into action and galloped towards the open gates out into the rocky plane. Twenty four rocksaurs responded to their riders and headed off after Baran.