In the cold days that followed the Rift one man found himself wandering alone. Prior to being transported through the Rift, Porlon Manx had always enjoyed his own company. Been a bit of a loner. Some considered him strange and mysterious, others eccentric and dangerous. But the truth was he just liked being alone with his thoughts. He craved no treasures, no riches, no power. As long as he had food in his belly and clothes on his back, he was a contented man.

 

The traumatic journey through the Rift changed nothing for Porlon. He watched as the other tragic souls that were also transported through the Rift, argue and fight and kill. He wanted nothing to do with them. He abhorred them and wanted nothing more than to be alone once again. And so resolved to survive this world on his own.

 

For months he wandered. He saw things that were beyond his comprehension, animals that he was sure could only exist in a fevered dream. Death came to call on more than one occasion but his speed of thought and his desire for survival kept it at arms-length. He was as happy as he could be, given what had happened of course.

 

He fashioned weapons and traps and ate well. He hunted and used the meat to sustain his body and the furs and pelts to protect it. In this new world he feared nothing. Well nothing except the Trolls. But over time he learned to avoid them more and more. Discerning their ways, their habits, avoiding their routes.

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One day whilst wandering through an area of low hills carpeted with a thick, dense forest, he set down to camp. It was an area he was unfamiliar with so knew he would need to be extra vigilant for any Forest Trolls that may be about. He could see no signs of previous Troll activity so decided that he would settle here for the night. He found a protected hollow, set a small fire to cook the quarry he’d snared earlier that day and settled down to an night of watchful-sleep.

 

At some point during the early hours, the sky just starting to blush heavens, the ground began to shake violently, startling him from his light slumber. A moment later the cool pre-dawn air was split by a gut wrenching howl, quickly followed by the sound of something crashing through the forest nearby. Something large!

 

Troll!!

 

It must have caught the scent of the dying fire and come to see. Porton knew he didn’t have time to collect his things together, the Forest Troll was nearly up him. So in an effort to escape he fled deeper into the Forest. Scrambling up the hill he caught sight of a rocky outcrop emerging from the woodland floor. As he drew closer he could see there was a small dark hole about the size of a man. It was big enough for him to fit, but far too small for the Troll. This was going to be his only way to survive! He bolted toward the small opening, the Troll gaining all the time. As he entered the dark rocky opening he was relieved to find that it was actually a small cave, darker than night. He worked his way back into the deep gloom just as the troll smashed into the rocky outcrop. It was a huge Forest Troll and it was hungry! It stretched its arm into the cave in a bid to snag Porton and drag him back out into the forest. Porton continued to edge backwards into the cave, dodging the splayed woody fingers of the Troll. As the troll stretched more and more Porton moved further and further into the cave.

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As he took one more step backwards the floor beneath his foot disappeared, unbalancing him and sending him falling backwards and down into the unknown blackness. He tumbled and fell, banging his head on the way down. His body hit the dirt like a rag doll, unconscious.

 

Porton awoke with a start, his head throbbing terribly. As he sat up he slowly realised that he could see. The darkness making way for a blueish glow that filled the small chamber he now found himself in. At the centre of the odd chamber was the source of the blue glow; a pool of shimmering azure water. Clear and pure.

 

He struggled to his feet and stumbled toward pool, suddenly very thirsty. He dipped his hand into the blue liquid and pressed it to his head, the water cooled his furious injury, the pain seeming to melt away on contact! He also noticed in amazement that the lacerations to his hand were healing before his eyes! His body hummed with an energy alien to him. Slowly he stood, disrobed and stepped into the pool.

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Porton Manx, the Human, entered the pool but Porton Manx the Warlock emerged.

 

Upon leaving the pool he was imbued with a primal power unknown yet instinctive. He knew things he hadn’t known prior, but it was knowledge that felt ancient and eternal. He scrambled his way out of the cave and back into the world. He had no idea how long he’d been in the cave, but the Troll was gone. He went back to his camp, gathered his things and returned to the cave. This would be where he would now live. Where he would learn what he could do. Where he would cultivate his power.

 

Over the years, and it was many, many years, as the pool had bestowed upon him an unnaturally long life, wanderers would happen across his cave. Some he would chase away, others he would take in. A small community began to form around the entrance to the cave, that soon became a small settlement. Those deemed worthy and wise were offered the opportunity to enter the pool and renounce their humanity in favour of a Warlocks life.

 

After many lifetimes Porton Manx died. By which time the settlement had grown into a town, at the centre of which stood the cave. Warlocks and Humans lived side-by-side, but it was the Warlocks that ruled. They offered protection to the Humans from the Trolls and in return were revered.