They entered the cave all bunched together. Marching into the depths of the mountain, they came across a massive cavern. An iridescent stones in the walls of the cavern bathed the cavern with light. The light revealed many branches of the cave reaching out into the bowels of the mountain. It was decided to randomly pick one branch, and then all would explore the branch. Truth is, it wouldn’t of mattered which branch they took because each housed a different sub-clan of a clan of ferries… each one as deadly as the other.

But before they could enter a branch, a dressed to the hilt ferry appeared, and addressed the mystic, “Ye may not enter here. Begone before I annihilate the lot of you.”

“We need refuge in this cavern to weather out the storm. Surely you can allow us this small courtesy .” said the mystic.

“Only if you all promise, pledge on all your lives, to not enter a single branch,” said the ferry.

But it was too late. Two of the platoon had already started walking down a branch. The ferry facing the mystic emitted a screech to rival a banshee. One by one the heads of the soldiers began too explode. All perished in a matter of seconds, all except the mystic. He simply smiled at the ferry, and the walked back out of the cave.

This is the story of how the night time patrol vanished one storm drenched evening… all but The Mystic Of Cascadia, who was protected by the mountain… a mountain in the Cascade mountain range.