the Old Ones were no more, the hatred that the humans had for

them persisted, fueled by superstition and tradition. The

persecution of witchcraft through the ages, the fear of anyone who

seemed somehow “different, ” the legends of vampires, evil spirits,

demons, shapechangers, and werewolves, all had their origin with

the Old Ones.

Modred had seen it all. He had lived through all those times of

persecution. He was just a boy when he met his father, Arthur, on

the field of battle and they engaged in mortal struggle. Arthur had

been killed, but though Modred was impaled on his father’s spear

and left for dead, he had survived. His wounds had healed and he

left England, to pursue life as a mercenary for the next two

thousand years. He had lived in many different nations under many

different names, the most recent and infamous of which was

Morpheus, an international assassin wanted by the law

enforcement agencies of almost every country in the world. He had

accumulated a vast fortune, carefully concealed, widely distributed,

and managed by a legion of confederates, most of whom had no idea

who they were really working for. A sorcerer himself, he had

disdained to use his powers except on very rare occasions, relying

on his strength and wits instead. And it was not until two thousand

years had passed that he found something to believe in, something

greater than himself, something that was now embodied by the

ruby runestone that was magically embedded in his flesh, over his

heart.

Wyrdrane and Kira had much briefer histories. They were both

still young, only in their twenties. As a student warlock who had

studied under Merlin, Wyrdrane was too naturally talented for his

own good, capable of spells far above his level, but lacking the

discipline to properly control them. It was that lack of discipline

that led to his expulsion before he could be certified as an adept.

His mother had died while he was still away at school and he

returned to New York City, alone and almost penniless, determined

to somehow raise the money that would allow him to complete his

thaumaturgic education. While scanning the newspaper one day, he

chanced upon an article about the upcoming auction of some

artifacts unearthed in the Euphrates Valley and, inexplicably, he