Feyleth Ithlonde's Story

"Lord Ithlonde," a silken voice said, "Our... guests have arrived, and they have brought the gifts demanded in exchange for communion."

Hard silver eyes peered down at the dwarves below and assessed them. A small, secretive, smile curled at the corner of Feyren's lips. He raised a delicate hand and signaled the others to greet their company.

"Open the gates," Feyren's velveteen voice commanded.

Below, where the dwarves were gathered, several elves stepped out from behind trees and made themselves known. There were at least thirty, if one counted, that surrounded the coterie of dwarves. Each had a fine short bow aimed for each one of the dwarves, and each had a mask to cover their faces and identity.

A loud crack rebounded off the trunks of the trees as the massive gates began to open. A strange ethereal light bathed the dwarves as the opening grew larger. There was a line of more elves guarding the gates.

Two came forth to personally greet Jorn Gareif of House Havelshield. Both were pale as milk and topped with silver-white hair on the heads. Many of the elven folk looked exceedingly similar but there was no doubt of the relation between the two. Their faces were mirror-image copies of the other's. The most rare birth of their kind: twins.

"Greetings," Tarrik said with a guarded tone. The hurt between the two races was ever a difficult one to forget. Elves were hard pressed to forget or to forgive.

"Come and rest from your weary travels, Jorn Gareif of House Havelshield. You may take bread and wine at our table," Tarrik offered, giving a stiff and mild bow to the dwarf.

Sybbil was smiling very softly at the gathering of dwarves. The she-elf was beautiful to behold and held curious eyes in that marvelous face. There seemed no hidden emotions in them unlike her brother's. Sybbil was far more approachable than Tarrik.

From above, a pair of amaranth eyes studied them all.

Malar did not approach his lord but certainly came closer to observe as was his duty. An engineer inquisitor never rested or ogled in face of the interesting. A twinkling spire of coiled wire and angled metal in one leather gloved hand the other moved as if writing on air at his side.

The glowing puff of a cigar smouldered quietly as he studied walls that needed little maintenance. Deep in thoughts of self-building structures loosed a puff of light grey smoke with the edged scent that is kin to herbal cigars. There could be many uses for such creations if magical in nature perhaps it could be repurposed for stone. Could crystal golems exist at that scale perhaps? There were environments where they could grow mass. The curling smoke soothed a darting mind even as the grey perturbed so slightly around areas where nearby hastily scribbled considerations reside hidden inside his mind's eye.

Dark blue crystal goggles raised by a pause of the writing hand but his eyes wince at the surface light adding color to his darkvision. Insufferable elves have to make everything so pale it glows. His pale silver eyes almost seem pinholes through white with he a creature of the underground. Still it made distance easier to judge as he wrote mental estimations of wall height, tree spacing, diameter distribution, and copious notes about researching the hydrology of that dense white structure and surrounding landscape.

Though to him the words appear around things and people, the whole world his journal page, to others there was little evidence. Only those black pips for eyes reading something floating in space and faintly evading smoke. Malar couldn't trace the gate without it being patently obvious so opted for a wall of technical treatise instead for now. Pictures were quite a physical concern he had to draw.

Jorn looked upon the twins that greeted him and then the elvish archers who pushed their way out from behind the many trees present within the forest. The old dwarf had many of his own thoughts on what could be done with the elves of the Whispering Woods but as for now he kept them bottled up and away from his current task.

"I pride myself on knowing all who speak with me. Tarrik Vallade, first born to Brakk Vallade, you and your sister here are both known to me." The old dwarf suddenly turned his attention away from both Tarrik and Sybbil Vallade and back towards his men.

"Everyone lower your guard! You there, Harthmyr, get my cane from the cab!" Jorn began to bark his orders and then found himself looking upon Malad Aethmak with his own silver gaze just to wonder what the younger dwarf was thinking. "Aethmak stay close. I'm sure you will find the hospitality sufficient."

Once he was done barking orders he simply turned back to his elven greeters just to then take up his cane when it was brought to him. "Lets get to the brunt of our visit. I'm sure our people and your own would be better suited with expediency then a lingering presence.

Jorn was prepared with both knowledge and skill at his side. A little magic never hurt and it was with a slight tap of the butt of his cane to the old weathered path that housed his men a the moment would begin to push forward. His eyes shimmered as he began looking at the old wards and spells that the forest housed. His old senses brought him back to wars in the past in which elven trickery could almost be found around every corner. Jorn did not hide his spellcraft as he expected that the elves had something hidden in store if anything at all.

"Forgive an old codger for finding trust in times like these. I'm sure you both are equally cautious of my small traveling caravan of armed guards and the metal carriage that brought me this far. To be weary of old rivals and enemies, even in times of peace, friendships can forge strong alliances...." Jorn pushed forward only to grimace as he himself did not believe the words that truly flowed past his lips. "We must be vigilant."

"Welcome to Elwendil, capital of Neluthien," Tarrik said to Jorn in the airy accent the elves all had. The elven man patiently waited for Jorn to gather himself and his dwarves.

It had been two centuries since any of their kind had set foot within the walls of Elwendil. To the Neluthien elves it was their most sacred site. The Whispering Woods were as old as Gaia herself, and the elves claimed that all life was born from their city. Having dwarves walk upon that earth made most of the elves uneasy. Their faces were all impassive with no expression, but the eyes that looked down upon the elves were contemptous. Even when times were easier between the two races was it a rare occurence for dwarves to lay eyes on Elwendil.

Inside the gates the city was nothing but breathtaking. Trees glowed with an ethereal light that pulsed from the sap coating their trunks. Beautiful elven people glided about in their long robes of silk. Stairs ran up and down the trees into homes grafted into the very trunks. Each tree was as wide around as any tower. The entire city was a veritable natural grown fortress.

A gaggle of children ran by, their wondrous faces alight with light and life. Tradesmen went about their crafts making pottery, art, music, and singing to buddings of the trees to spellcraft into bows.

Small zips of light flew to and fro as quick as lightning. They were tiny motes of dust to the eye at first but upon a second look one may be able to see the miniature life that it was: a small fey.

"Feyleth awaits you in the inner sanctum for you to see council from her," Sybbil mentioned to Jorn. An easy smile had spread across her glossy lips. Feyleth had been the one the dwarves they needed to speak with about their findings.

Feyleth was a strange creature, even to the elves. She had been born a halfbreed between two species. The first of her kind. If the dwarves found the company of elves trying then they would not be pleased to meet Feyleth.

The Fey themselves were incorrigable and full of speculation. One could only guess as to the meaning of their words and Feyleth was of their blood.

High above Gaia, in high orbit...

Space and reality bent and gave way, with a tear rent in the fabric of space as a wormhole opened up for the briefest of moments.

The single one-man Prowler emerged, it's sleek black hull reflecting the faintest of light from the dead star within the system, and the light from the moons as the cockpit darkened to compensate for the light within this strange and fantastical world that lay below.

Captain Costas, a seasoned Apollo pilot, Aurora Bomber Pilot, and Commander of the Wrath's Fighter group. Was seated within the cockpit, at the controls of the Aschen Empire's newest, and most advanced reconnaissance craft. His mission was simple, to scout the planet, document it's lifeforms with a thorough yet brief flyover, and then determine if the planet was worth visiting further.

Costas took a deep breath, his face obscured by the dark visor as he glanced down to the Three-dimensional holographic projection of the planet, and the Anquietas text that scrolled up and over it.

"Recon Log; I've jumped to the generated coordinates for my reconnaissance run. This star system seems to have one class M planet, and is trinary in nature." Costa said into his audio log, before he heard the sound of brief static, one of the displays flickering in his periphery.

"Initiating atmospheric insertion and activation of the scout package.." Reaching out, Costa flipped several switches, engaging a high-definition camera that swiveled on a small ball mount in the nose of the craft. Angling it down, the light of Gaia was in full view, bathing the interior of the cockpit in a dull blue light.

Another glitch, this time in throttle control. "Unidentied error; flight systems." Scrolled across his main display in Anquietas, and he furrowed his brow. "What is going on, gods damn expensive piece of crap, Aerospace can't build a solid fighter to save their lives." He hit the display, but as he approached the planet, more and more seemed to go wrong.

The controls stopped responding, and everything suddenly went dark, as the Prowler slipped into an decaying orbit, and eventually into an uncontrolled tailspin over Gaia, streaking across the sky across almost the whole of Si'ven.

Warning alarms blared, and G-forces crept up as the Prowler was engulfed in white hot plasma, as atmospheric friction built up, threatening to tear the craft asunder as it soared over the surface.

---

To those on the ground, two deafening booms preceded the arrival of the doomed prowler, several brilliant streaks of white in the daytime sky, along with trails of thick inky black smoke as the Prowler broke apart. Dion, in his final moments of consciousness pulled the ejection lever, sending the entire cockpit assembly shooting several feet into the air, a parachute deployed to slow the fall while the Prowler itself careened into a nearby tree, impacting with a deafening bang and sending up a plume of flame, scattering debris across the woods.

The whole ordeal left the lone pilot out cold, as even the auxiliary systems failed, computer regulated navigation simply shut down, plagued with magical influenced glitches and errors. The only thing keeping the cockpit pressurized was a simple mechanical regulatory system, designed for durability in hostile environments.

Blackness gave way to light as the escape capsule's parachute became entangled in the branches of the towering trees. Emergency releases broke, and the Capsule fell several feet, jarring it's previously unconscious occupant awake.

Sparks erupted all around Dion as he felt warm blood trickle down his face, the cockpit was totally trashed, he looked up at the parachute wafting in the breeze, it's brilliant orange color making it easily locate-able to anyone who was watching.

In a normal situation, an electronic beacon would then activate, on a subspace frequency that would ensure help's arrival. But this time the beacon did not activate.

Dion groaned, and looked to his arm. A special device designed to test if the atmosphere was breathable by reacting with oxygen showed green, he had ten hours of oxygen in the emergency cockpit capsule. Reaching up, he attempted to unfasten his restraints, nothing worked, not his helmet's HUD, not the cockpit's systems, nothing seemed to function except a few indicator lights, which were on systems so simple, they would be the last to be influenced by whatever doomed his craft.

Lord Gareif called his name so blue crystal goggles went back down as Malad suffered enough of the blinding elf architecture for now. He could see a tide of light illuminating the air somewhere inside. He nodded firmly at Lord Gareif and if his latest luck held the elves would be leading his Lord there.

Quick to hup to Malad moved forward to just behind his lord. An unusual off-silver hilt wobbled on his belt not quite platinum or steel but an edge below the guard that looked painted with metal. Malar carried a hammer more often and didn't have the harness to anchor such things proper. An expensive new alloy however incomplete yet certainly wasn't getting out of his sight but for the will of the Lord.

At close range Malad looked to the magic eye a dwarven statue hewn from taut flesh. Filamentous layers of artistry from dwarves of research like himself but of the arcane. He'd let them run or revise with the ample time for an art to their craft. Both Runes and inert stories of the clan curl symmetrically from underneath his gloves onto the rest of his body.

Malad raised an eyebrow at the notion of alliances with the light-drunk elves but said nothing. Politics were the Lord's concern though he hoped he didn't have to be blinded here often. While walking on through the capital Malad sometimes still had to block out the blinding trees. Even the dust conspired give him a headache until he noticed the tiny flap of appendages. His thoughts went to more soothing topics then the slimy trees gave him an idea. While making a shorthand note he absently mutters from behind Lord Gareif while eying a tree, "Get sample of glowing tree sap. Analyze for lighting. See if it can be made into rum. Remember to get black bottles for the besotted stuff." He did a quick trace of the general shape of the trees onto a mental canvas with one finger.

The boom of a meteor then grabbed his attention. It wasn't hard to find with the shockwave pulsing over them but the black smoke made him second guess his first assessment. He directed some thought to finding other pictures of meteors and while pieces broke off the object came to a conclusion of compared illustrations. The light was uniform among meteors and they did not burn with black smoke behind them. Still if the air burned in front of the object it must be going as fast and from above. A curious thing. He wasn't taking off his goggles in here to see the objects coming off.

Malad's rough voice had the tint of curious amusement after a moment, "M'lord. Over there. It's come from above but meteors don't burn. It's come too fast too high for artillery."

Jorn was about to enter before noting what Malad had muttered and then the loud bang from something flying to fast. His initial thoughts had been the same until he realized that the falling star was something more. The older dwarf had traveled to many strange locales and traversed the deepest reaches of space before returning home and it was clearly obvious that the crashing object was a ship of some kind.

"So, another has fallen, I wonder what will come of this?" Jorn suddenly turned to the two elves who had accompanied them and gave a gruff sigh. "I expect your company would like to deal with the mess. Perhaps I can send a few of my men to accompany them." Regardless of the answer there was more important things to discuss.

A few of the dwarven soldiers would gather a few chests to carry behind Jorn as he entered into the building to await for the one he was sent to speak with. Strange as it would be he figured it best to allow the elves to act first in this manner.

"Feyrun," Tarrik called out in a commanding tone. All of the elves had stopped to watch the vessel break into pieces above the clearing of the trees. Their sharp eyes picked out a human sitting inside some metal contraption. Strange arrivals were rare on the planet, but not unheard of even for the tree-folk.

"Yes my Lord?" Feyrun's voice was deep but smooth as an aged honeyed mead.

"Take some scouts and find our visitor from the skies. Bring him to me in one piece and alive. I want to see where this person is from and if it is related to certain events," said Tarrik. He eyed the dwarf in front of him with some uncertainty.

"Very well," said Feyrun with a bow to the Elven Lord.

"Jorn of House Havelshield, you may have men accompany Feyrun, or not. It is your choice but I will not bear the consequences of them being unfamiliar with our woods. They are quite perilous and filled with fey, as I am sure you understand," said Tarrik to the Dwarven Lord.

Feyrun left the company gathered at the inner gates inside Elwendil, a few of his men following behind the dark-haired elven man.

"I would like to go as well," a gentle voice spoke up to Tarrik. He frowned down at her and crossed his arms across his broad chest. After a moment of thought, Tarrik nodded to Sybbil. She smiled gracefully, lifted onto her tiptoes and gave her brother a kiss to his smooth cheek. She, too, left the gathering.

"Your men will be shown where they may stay. Bring whomever you will to speak with Feyleth," Tarrik said to Jorn. He made a motion with his hand and several other elven men began to help the dwarves with whatever they may have needed. They headed west toward a large tree with a burl cut at the lower roots for entrance into an underground hollow. It would be more than accommodating.

---

An hour passed.

---

Tarrik sat upon his throne made out of a massive elm. It still bloomed and shed leaves on the earthen floor of the throne room. Tiny motes of fey lingered amoung the living branches. No other elves were present aside from a strange creature that resembled more fey than elf.

She was stunningly beautiful, almost too much so to be looked upon with desire. Her skin was iridescent and glimmered with the lights of the fey surrounding her. The woman's hair was amaranth and laced with soft downy feathers. Her eyes like two glittering jewels inlaid in her wondrous face.

A smile graced upon the woman's glossy lips and she stared at the dwarves.

"Dwarven... Lord... Jorn...Welcome..." spoke Feyleth, sending a shiver even down Tarrik's spine.

"What you have found... I fear... for us all..." Feyleth's speech was oddly broken. Tarrik did not seem to be surprise by this behavior. She had always spoken thus due to her making. Feyleth was a creature half in the world and half in another at all times. She walked between the worlds in spirit barely anchored by her physical embodiment.

The silence around the lone Prowler pilot was almost deafening; but he couldn't sit in one place since he knew that help wasn't coming. He took a quick assessment of his injuries, but he figured his Nanites would take care of him.

He let his eyes drift about, taking in his surroundings; as alien as they could be. He made the deduction that he was in a forest of some kind, where there was vegetation, there was a animal life, and it was likely that the planet's atmosphere could support human life.

He pulled his visor over his face, and checked the pressurization. The oxygen gauge showed that his suit had three hours of emergency oxygen, so he made the decision to try and go for help.

A gloved hand reached up, and clenched the emergency cockpit release, he pulled the lever back and the canopy was blown from the capsule, hurling several feet and landing nearby atop knurled roots with a thud.

He checked the oxygen reader once more, it was still green; so he lifted his visor and took the first breaths of alien air. However something seemed off as he tried to stand up; his legs shook and he winced in pain.

Was this world's gravity heavier?

Joints popped as he stood up, unfastening the last of his restraints, he looked around once more.

"I'm three kinds of frakked." He muttered.

Pulling out of the cockpit, he threw his legs over the side of the capsule, and landed on the ground with a crunch of leaves and undergrowth. He then reached forward, and undid the emergency cargo latch to get at the supplies inside.

Inside was a green rucksack, emergency heat blanket made out of gold reflective foiling, three days of bagged emergency purified water, two ration bars that held a whopping 5,000 calories, along with complete nutrition, and an assortment of emergency tools, such as a wick lighter, basic first aid kit, and a multitude of other supplies.

He grabbed the rucksack and threw it over his shoulder, before reaching out and grabbing the machete and tomahawk/shovel tool that was loaded in the emergency hatch, as well as a simple magnetic compass.

The last and most vital survival tool was a field manual composed by the Imperial Navy, which was a guide for survival in several different situations.

He slid the guide in his front pocket, before he took his helmet off, with an audible hiss and then he tossed it into the cockpit. With everything he could carry he looked around, and then he frowned.

"I suppose i Pick a direction and walk." He said, attatching the tomahawk and machete to his belt, before checking his weapon, which he figured probably didn't work.

His eyes moved to the parachute, which was tangled on the trees, and the cord dangling from the fabric. He decided he would try and salvage the parachute next, as it would come in handy for a temporary shelter.

Malad followed Jorn along with the elves deeper into the migraine capital of elfdom. He rubbed his head pondering an idea to solve some of his problems. Could the damned light from the trees be repurposed? Then he needed somewhere to distribute it. He looked about at the construction and wondered how all the energy moved about to be secured from tampering. The task at hand caught his attention at the view of the wooden throne and tabled his thoughts for now.

The goggles came off as Malad caught sight of Feyleth. It wasn't a frown as much as a discerning impulse one who'd spent too long in a lab. Shaking off the unusual impulse of contemplating the dissection of the hybrid Malad rubbed his pale eyes.

Something dangerous just found? Quite. Malad made a slight smile, "Hmmph."

"Torggrim!" Jorn barked to the dwarves in his company before entering to meet with the elvish lords who he wished could have been entirely avoided. "Take a small company of my men and accompany the elves to that event. Don't return empty handed."

"Will do. I'll make sure to bring something back..." Torggrim quickly offered his response only to wave over a few armed dwarves and began to march towards the direction of the fallen vessel. Jorn simply looked at the other elves present before turning away from them and enter into the meeting room.

Torggrim had traversed similar terrain before back during the war but he would not loose sight of the elves they would accompany. Jorn's man knew what must be done if things seemed to go south and had his Great Houses trust.

As for Jorn, Malad, and the few dwarves who carried a couple of chests it was nothing but short work that they presented their goods. An old heirloom stolen from the elves long ago was a simple looking hour glass that was housed in a silver cage of sorts. The sands within the hour glass were replaced with sparkling ground gemstones that seemed to reflect the light around it. There was also a silver dirk whose ebony hilt and grip bared gilded crafted leaves that decorated the blade. Along with a few other goodies and several chests of mithril and platinum coins pressed in the dwarven likeness of their currency.

"A pleasure I'm sure. Our gifts are of items once thought lost from war only to be returned and with a bit of incentive. As for what I've found it would only be pressing to say that the object of your concerns is a mystery to even our old scholars who've searched their grand archives. I have even pressed several powerful wizards and sorcerers, both natural blooded and otherwise, and still have not heard from them." Jorn took his place behind those chests of treasure and lost history only to grimace. "You know full well that coming to ask for help in understanding such a thing was not my first choice. But sadly this strange cube is somewhat beyond me."

Jorn muttered his words only to know fully that not all he said was true. "A force not of this realm lay within the box and its material seems to hold many possibilities. I would imagine that such a thing is very powerful.....but I also fear that from this discovery something else has captured the hearts and lives of the people who call this realm home."

Elwendil Throne Room
Tarrik sat upright upon his throne and down his nose at the dwarf. His crystalline nail-tipped fingers dug into the bark of his high seat. Foolish creatures always pushing for more expansion and discovery within the Mother's bosom. It appeared they had dug too far and unearthed something dangerous.

The Elven King must needs take it from those irresponsible creatures and keep it contained. Power could not be trusted with the other races of Gaia.

"I have felt this... otherworldly presence... your people have unearthed..." Feyleth said, raising from her chair seated close to the King's. The woman's silver robes pooled at her naked feet as she stood. Feyleth's jewel-like eyes bored into Jorn's face, searching. Across the earthen floor the faerie-elf glided to the dwarf. Not a single sound did her footfalls make as she approached.

When Feyleth reached Jorn Havelshield, she knelt down upon her knees as no elven creature had done before a dwarf in the history of Siv'en. Those deep pools of amaranth stared unblinking into Jorn's, attempting to capture his gaze with her own. But, it was not his eyes that the faerie-elf searched. It was beyond those organic orbs and into what he had seen, what his people had seen, and further...

"I see..." Feyleth's corporeal form disappeared from the court.

---

Deep beneath the Exalted Mountains in the Kingdom of Mahark did Feyleth appear. Before her eyes laid a box. The powerful woman circled around the construct and finally approached.

A single, silken, and long finger touched the pointed edge.

Instantly her mind became awash with the unseen fingers of another mind, a mind expansive and powerful- a mind that encompassed an entirety of its own dimension.

Who are you?

"A being that belongs to this world while you do not", Feyleth answered the voice. Her palm graced the smooth sides of the cube structure.

I belong to all things, just as all things belong to me. The grasping tendrils of thought latched onto Feyleth's mind. It was a feeling like cold water filling one's skull, and with it, it seeped into her very thoughts.

A shiver ran down Feyleth's spine. Her other delicate hand latched onto the box, needing to feel the object beneath her flesh. A vast wealth of knowledge was nestled in the elven woman's mind; mysteries that had long been forgotten, arcane arts that no longer were practiced, views into the worlds that were attached to Gaia, places that were and no longer were.

And tucked away in the deepest recesses of Feyleth's mind, a malevolence patiently waiting to be unleashed.

---

The silence around the Aschen man broke as a bow string drew. An arrow pointed at the nape of his neck while stern eyes regarded the man. The woman was dressed in leather armor from heel to foot, a mask was drawn up over her jaw, and thick braid of red hair thrown over her shoulder. Mylor appeared human but for one detail; a slightly pointed ear peeking between wisps of hair.

"Lost?" Mylor asked the man. There was a touch of dark humor in the tone of the female's voice. A crooked smile quirked the edge of her mouth upward.

A Terran, she thought to herself, or one of the other bastard human races that infected the once beautiful planet.

"So far from home..." Mylor loosened the bow string and let her aim fall to the earthy ground. The bow was a curious weapon to have on a planet with such low technology and advancements. It was a compound bow made from carbon fiber. Hardly a weapon that was fashioned on Gaia.

Her eyes slide past the man before her and into the woods.

"They're coming for you. Stay here and become their prisoner or ..." A wicked smile spread across the woman's face.

Dion made his way quietly through the woods, he didn't want to stray too far from the crash site for fear that he would get lost, but his concentration was broken by the sound of a drawing bow, his hand immediately went to the disruptor pistol at his hip, but then he slowly raised both his hands upon realizing that his weapon likely was overcome by whatever seemed to cause his other devices to malfunction, and whoever had drawn down upon him already held the advantage.

Unlike Mylor's leather, Dion was still in his flight suit, the black vinyl like material encased him from his neck to his boots, which were the standard EVA grade all purpose boots, sealed to the suit, as were his gloves.

Worn over his flight suit was a harness, which held an oxygen tank, power source, and the rucksack which was thrown over his shoulder. His uniform also bore the patches and insignia of the Aschen Empire, specifically it's 45th Custos Pantharae prowler squadron. Which bore an image of a black panther lurking over a planet, with an Aschen prowler circling the panther.

His rank insignia, that of captain was denoted by small collar pips, where the helmet sealed to the flight suit, of course all of this was only likely recognizable by those intimately familiar with the Aschen Empire.

Slowly he turned, his hands still raised as to not appear a threat, until his eyes fell upon the woman before her.

"I made a wrong turn at the Pleiades cluster." He said, still keeping his hands raised, but began to lower them as she loosened the tension on the bow.

"They're coming for me? I don't plan on exactly becoming anyone's prisoner." He called out. "You got something better?"

Malad was deep in considering conduction rates of theoretical construct networks and barely noted the hybrid feyelf's assessment of what they already knew. However when she came close a free hand quietly dismissed his view of the journal spire. Were the elves not going to say anything of note? It suited them he supposed. Then the lady fey-elf vanished. His pose straightened as he thought of where she'd gone.

Malad leaned forward to whisper in his Lord's ear, "If this Feyleth has gone in freely to where I think then it may be prudent to investigate gating such paths outward from the box."

Torggrim continued to push forward with the dwarven guard right behind him. When he would dip and duck under low hanging branches the rest of his company would attempt to keep their fearless ranger in sight. The Dwarf had a knack for adventuring in strange lands, even though this place was not all that unfamiliar. Wars fought in a distant past left fresh memories and wounds alike.

"Keep up lads. Jorn tasked me to guide your sorry lot here and back." Torggrim bellowed back to the rest of his small platoon.

Many of the dwarves seemed to groan and a few had their jollies satisfied as another took a branch to the face. It was a miracle that Torggrim was even able to keep them in check as he continued to push through the underbrush.

Meanwhile back at the place of meeting Jorn simply frowned as the amalgamation of elf and fea suddenly vanished before the dwarven lords eyes. He simply offered a moody sigh as Malad made the obvious seem ever more so than it already was. Jorn wanted to do just that but his fellow Councilors refused to agree on all terms with him.

"You and I once again agree." Jorn muttered his words silently towards his companion only to shake his head and glance up at the elf upon the throne. "I wouldn't have needed to come here at all if I'd just had my way. A shame really to have to share things when you know best....."

The light in the sky began to grow brighter. The clouds were beginning to shift away. The pink of the sky seemed to have subtly faded as well.
, ` - ' , B .
' , - ` . O -
, - . -` O '
` - ' ' , M `

Sudden Butte

A butte that fell suddenly, extending irrationally high above the tree-line. Newer addition to the landscape, made from sharp lines of recently cut stone and earth. Technically part of the leg of a titan.

`, -, ' . - '
. , ` - ' ' , - ` , ' . - ', ' . - '
, ' . , ' . - ' `, '
,` - ` ,
`, -
. , ` - ' ' , - ` ,
, ' . , ' . - ' `, ' , ' . - ', ' . - '
,` - ` ,
`, -
. , ` - ' ' , - ` ,
, ' . , ' . - ' `, ' , ' . - ', ' . - '
,` - ` ,
, ' . - '

Leaning Leg Mountain

A massive leg made of stone leans against a crumbled peak. At the bottom of the leg, half emergent from the ground, a foot.

Dhodrimme flew high in the sky on the back of Feraspar. They made their way above the top of the Whispering Woods, far beyond the groves and bramble below.

It was off to the Exalted Mountains.