The city of Lor’Ada is surrounded by wonders. Growing up, Amandine took them for granted, the harbor, with the white sailed ships flashing in the setting sun; the mountains of Ra’Don,  tall, proud, and arching, protecting the small people far below. The Ra’Don were home to the dwarves, and occasionally Amandine would meet one, in the small inn her parents kept or in the streets of the busy market city. But the real wonder of Lor’Ada was the Titan’s Goblet.

The Titan’s Goblet was something of a legend. Though it filled with water at every rainfall, enough that a lake had collected inside the bowl at the top of the goblet, and another one at it’s base, where the trickling waterfalls had deposited years worth of the life-giving water. The water from the bottom lake led into the harbor, where it mixed with the salty ocean and turned brackish. Swimming in the warm top pool was strictly forbidden, for all but the Priestesses. Even the children of the traders knew this rule.  But Amandine excelled at breaking rules, and the one time a Priestess had caught her, she had simply smiled, her pointed teeth clicking together. The Titan’s Goblet did not scare Amandine, and neither did the women who guarded it so fiercely.

Amandine’s mother, Constancia, was a small woman with the classic Isle of Drole looks- mousy brown hair and eyes a darker shade of the same color. She was strong of character and body, and her children had been brought up with the same traits. Amandine, however, was her pride and joy, bright and clever, quick and unafraid. She was the the middle of the five children, and her job was to marry at a young age and help her husband and brothers run the tavern, as Constancia herself had done, though her two brothers were long dead.

Her father, Throve, was loud and lively, sometimes harsh, but well meaning. He had blue eyes and a bristled beard, and welcomed all guests to The Rusty Boot. He wanted what was best for his daughter, and it was well known that marriage was best for girls like Amandine. So, when our story starts, on the day of Amandine’s sixteenth birthday, in the early spring, he announced her availability to prospective suitors.

The problem was, what Amandine wanted was very different from what her parents thought she did. The blue-eyed girl wanted nothing to do with marriage and family. She was fascinated by the Titan’s Goblet, and she wanted to become it’s protector. A Priestess. Though the Priestesses were respected, no father in his right mind wanted his daughter to become one. Their luminescent skin, dark rimmed eyes in unearthly colors, and teeth filed to daggers. Their incredible speed was inhuman, and their strength exceeded that of all others. But Amandine would become one, no matter what it took.

But it happened that a several men professed interest in the girl with the dark, wavy brown hair and sky blue eyes. Marcella, the oldest child, had been married for three years now, and had two children, another on the way. She had married a well respected guard who worked at the docks, and jumped at the chance to help her little sister make an equally proficient choice. So, five days after Amandine turned sixteen, the four men appeared at the tavern. Each wore his best clothes and was prepared with several sheep and chickens waiting, as an engagement present should she accept.

Amandine sat in the back hall, at a long wooden table. The fireplace behind her took away some of the early spring chill, and Marcella sat on her right, gently rounded stomach and baby son on her lap forcing her to scoot her chair farther back than Amandine’s. The first man, hardly more than a boy, introduced himself as Hoagol. He had shaggy black hair and eyes the color of mud, framed by a youthful face. He was ambitious and strong, with no aversion to a hard, honest day’s work. He smiled and bowed to the two women. “Pleasure, Lass Amandine, Goodwife Marcella."

Marcella blushed at his use of goodwife, being hardly two years his senior. She smiled and turned to Amandine. “Would you like to question him, or should I?” Drole is far removed from the habits of the Valley and mountains, not affected by the Valley Lords, and has developed many strange customs thereof. One of which is the courting customs. The father of the bride to be first must announce that she is available, usually done on her sixteenth birthday. Then any potential suitors line up on a predetermined date, to be interviewed by the girl and one other family member, normally the mother or an older sister. They choose their favorites and then have them compete in contests until only one is left.

Amandine nodded to her sister, and Marcella began asking questions. “Citizen Hoagol, what dreams do you have for yourself?”

Hoagol then began to explain his life long dreams, ones that Amandine found so dreary and usual that she began to drift off. “Amandine?” asked her sister a few minutes later, startling her out of her stupor. “What do you think?”

“Send him away,” she replied, tired and bored.

So it went with the next three suitors, widowers almost old enough to be her father. They were perfectly kind, and very ordinary. Amandine turned them away and was about to close up the doors when another man arrived, puffing and calling out for her to wait. “Why are you in such a hurry?” she asked suspiciously.

He smile, a heart-stopping, mind-blowing smile that set Amandine’s blood on fire as it lit up his green eyes and blonde hair, an unusual color for Lor'Ada. “I was told there was a pretty girl here eligible for marriage. They were mistaken. I see only a married woman,” here he nodded at Marcella, who had come out to see the commotion. “And a beautiful one.”

Amandine blushed for possibly the first time in her life. “What is your name, Citizen?” she asked, her hands going to her blood- filled face.

“Pogonoro, most call me Po. And you must be the Lass Amandine?”

She nodded absentmindedly, but her mind was spinning. Here was the one perfect for her, how could she not love him?

The woman who crouches, rimmed by the night that falls in his bedroom window, has lovely hair, silky, shimmering in chocolate waves like the nearby waterfalls on the harbor’s cliffs. The moonlight glints off her skin, and her musical eyes enchant his mind, his weak mortal mind. How could he not stare, not wonder how the girl he had once adored had become his enemy, so magical and awe inspiring, so horrible? She looks at him now, her yellow eyes barreling deep into his soul, his weak mortal soul. But still he sees her as the one he loved, who could never hurt anyone, least of all him. He has forgotten how she has changed, and therein lies his mistake, his weak mortal mistake. He remembers when those eyes were blue, celestial blue, calling to him, begging him to fall in love with her. Only now does he realize his error, that an enchantress has tricks, and will take her revenge on those who try to hold her back. Still the last tendrils of a forgotten love clung to the man’s heart, his weak mortal heart. But she is not bound by such human matters as guilt and a good soul any longer. She shakes her head and smiles, teeth filed to deadly knife-sharp points. With an unearthly screech she leaps from her spot, her waves of dark hair billowing out behind her like a dark angel’s wings. The speed at which she moves is not human, and for a good reason. She is no longer human.

So as another man is killed and his remains taken, leaving only bones, gnawed clean, the city of Lor’Ada awakens. And the creature, the monster, hurries home, taking with her his body, his weak mortal flesh. And the city calls for a vengeance, one they will never receive. Not if the Priestesses of the Titan’s Goblet have anything to say about it. Lor’Ada is doomed.