“It is this councilor’s opinion that the change in the weave of magic cannot be ignored. We must investigate this disturbance immediately.” The elder elf swept his silver hair back as he leaned forward. Looking first to his right, and then his left, he raised his hand in the air, waving it slowly back and forth in a hypnotic fashion. Grand Magister Mirthas expected all present to follow his lead.
Soft green light issued forth from the ivory chair he sat in. Eight other chairs glowed green, one by one.
“It is agreed then with unanimity. This council will await the decision of the High Captain. We adjourn.” Nine robe clad elves exited the chamber, none speaking.
Maelora stared at the gate. The gate, an unyielding, untiring, unblinking prismatic swirl, stared back. This impasse continued unabated for hours. Maelora’s eyes focused, then darted nervously back and forth, as if expecting some great horror to emerge.
Nothing issued forth from the gate. The only interruption came as another elf came into the cavernous chamber.
“Maelora, you are being summoned by the High Captain.” Maelora broke her concentration to glance at the interrupting visitor. “Ralitos, thank you for the message. I believe my studies for today are done.” Her blonde hair flowed freely about her shoulders, her naturally lithe and supple body enhanced by years of underwater diving.
High Captain Vardarathas stood pensively in the antechamber immediately before the Grand Magister’s quarters. It had been many years since he was summoned before the Council of the Nine. Surely, he thought, it must be important. Damned important.
He knocked twice, and entered the magister’s room. Sitting on the marbled floor was Mirthas, his eyes closed in meditation.
“You please me with your haste, Captain. Tell me, do you know who the third member shall be?”
“I do. Maelora is the best prepared in both body and mind to undertake this journey.”
“Does Maelora know she will be voyaging to the east with you?” The Grand Magister’s eyes opened, with an eyebrow arching quizzically.
“Not yet, but she will not decline. I know well enough that there is a fire in her heart, and the wander is in her eyes.”
Mirthas rose to his feet, and grasped the captain’s hand in his. “May the gods hasten your trip. Tu valathia orn nomentha gura.”
Maelora Ficala is an elven wizard who was born and raised in the Mordant Spire. Some say the gray elves of the Mordant Spire are aloof and forboding. They have to be to protect the secrets of the ancient Azlanti. Maelora has spent the better part of a human lifetime diving in the waters around the Mordant Spire. Her skiff and its turquoise sail are a familiar sight in the waters surrounding that part of the Steaming Sea.
Maelora, along with High Captain Vardathas and an elven rogue named Kyri sailed east from the Mordant Spire two weeks ago. The trip was uneventful, but the destination was not. The Old Light, a ruin from Thassalonian history, is rumored to hold a prophecy when the stars have aligned. Captain Vardathas and Kyri sailed for Riddleport after leaving her in the town of Sandpoint. With a thirst for adventure, a book of mystical spells at her side, and a crossbow of exquisite make in her hands, she is ready for the mysteries that await her in Varisia.
