As the dark clouds creeped in and over The Floating Log, a violent wind churned up the dry leaves and barn straw. The ponies reared and cried out in fear. Loamsdown quickly wrangled them into their pens. All around, the world set dark as night, and above through the sweeping trees one could see many spectral figures weaving about the branches. Such magic had never been seen in the shire. Certainly not this dark sorcery.
Forcing shut the stall door, Loamsdown clasped the latch, and against the wind’s force, slowly trudged towards the entrance of the inn. As he rounded the corner of the building, he saw out in the road the mysterious grey hooded figure he had met that morning. His arms were raised to the air, staff in hand, cloak fluttering in the wind. It took a moment for Loamsdown to notice that the man was in the midst of a duel of supernatural powers. The darkness was powerful, but surprisingly no match for the aged grey wizard. All at once, a deafening shriek echoed and suddenly dissipated along with the gail. The air settled as the hooded figure collapsed to one knee.