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located in Tane, a part of Heroes of a Sundered Sky, one of the many universes on RPG.

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Kevril Loreweaver


The forest had grown quiet with the passing of the thunderstorms which had raked the countryside overnight. The great black clouds still rose like mountains in the far west, drifting steadily further away, wreaking their havoc on other lands now. The Thenet Wood dripped and glistened with sunlight and water, casting tiny fragments of light into all sorts of forest-born shadows. Kevril, always a lover of storms, and of the world that followed them, padded through the gold-lit moss and ferns as though walking through a fog of wonder. There was nothing more enchanting than an elven woodland in a halo of sunlight.

He walked without snapping twig or rustling leaf, like a predator stalking its prey, though at that time he was not searching for anything in particular. He had learned how to move in the forest without disturbing the wildlife around him, a human with the skills of an elf. They called him a prodigy ā€“ at least, the elvish word for prodigy ā€“ for it was commonly assumed that all humans were bumbling fools without respect for nature. Perhaps they were. Kevril did not know. He had hardly met more than ten humans over the course of his life, growing up alone in this forest, apart from the occasional company of an elfchild who had wandered a little too far from Elfingrove and sought Kevril out to bring them home. He was a solitary creature, and saw no reason why that should be a bad thing. He, personally, thought humans should spend more time alone. Perhaps then they would spend less time fighting.

Brushing aside a graceful pine frond, one of the rare pines which had migrated down from the drowā€™s land of Burson to encroach upon the warmer-weather deciduous trees of Thenet, he stepped out into a circle of light. The clearing was small, but bright and carpeted in young green grass. Spring had brought warmth with it, and the chill of the rainstorm which still hung in the air was chased away by the glitter. Kevril reached up and pulled the soft green cloak he wore to keep off the nightā€™s cold off of his shoulders, revealing bronze muscles to the day. Absentmindedly he reached up, fingering his delicate wolf-bone cross as he watched the skies. Every morning, she came here. Shae would surely find him here.

But there was no sign of her. Not even a shrill call to let him know she was coming. Not even a dead mouse waiting for him, to tell him she would be back later. She was a well-trained hawk. She did not simply up and leave without leaving some sort of message for him. Which was apparently exactly what she had doneā€¦

Drawing a deep sigh, Kevril straightened his bow and quiver over his back. He was going to have to go looking for her. If she had been flying in the nightā€™s storm, it was possible she had been blown off track. Injured, somehow. He paused for a moment, hesitant. He hated the thought of leaving Thenet, even for a day or two to find his precious companionā€¦ but the winds had been blowing west last night, and if Shae had been brushed away by the storm, that was where she would be. Out of Thenet wood.

Closing his eyes, committing himself, he struck out to the west. For Delta.
__________________________________________

Yasryne Everhund


The boulder provided little protection from the blinding sunlight, as its very surface seemed to gather up the warmth and glow and reflect it back on the black-skinned temptress who huddled in its shadow. She had bound a spare strip of black cloth about her eyes to save her vision, but that was all that she could do. The light came from everywhere, overwhelming to a woman who had lived her entire life in the great network of caverns beneath Burson Pines. She had never ventured to the surface with the warrior patrols, never seen the sun before. She was a strong woman, a warrior, a killer, and the heir to the Queen Mother of her clan. That did not mean the sun could not burn her. It had taken all of her strength to just to flee as far as this boulder, when the sun had come up that morning. She had come out at night, as advised. Now she wished she had not. Traveling at night, she was far from the safety of the Burson caves by the time the sun showed its face.

Drawing a shuddering breath, Yasryne curled into a tighter ball, yanking her hood further up over her white hair. She would get used to it. Queen Mother had promised that she would adjust. All drow who came to the surface did. This was simply her first trip, it would be the most painful, she would get over it. She hoped. She prayed, even, to both Misara, her goddess, and Helkara, who ruled over the rest of her people. Night, or the end of her pain, whichever came first, she prayed that it would come quickly.
__________________________________________

Narisaa Feledor


The scents of pine incense, old paper, and melting candle-wax burned in Narisaaā€™s nose, familiar and comforting and infuriating all in the same instant. He flipped through his spellbook, one page after another, reading and reviewing and memorizing just as he had done every day for every year that he had been here. When he was younger he had dreamed of this life, holed up in the study of a mage twenty, thirty, forty times as powerful as he was, reading the mageā€™s book, studying the mageā€™s spells, taught by the mage. He still dreamed of it, still loved this life, under the tutelage of the powerful and unusually peaceable black-robe, Kitherine Damacus. He loved the magic more than he loved anything in the world, and by extension he loved his master, who gave him that magic.

He was, however, growing bored with this theoretical application of magics which were meant to be practiced. He had cast the spells before, of course, occasionally on creatures Kitherine brought back from his travels for use as a teaching tool. He had seen their effects, fought battles in the subterranean parts of the tower, Kitherineā€™s great Labyrinth of Maegus. He had made it snow indoors, turned beasts inside out, summoned demons. All of it within the comfortable safety of Kitherineā€™s warding spells. There was no risk to it! What was the point of all this vast and powerful magic if he had to cast it where he could not be hurt? It was not as though he wasnā€™t grateful to Kitherine for his concern, but Narisaa was ready. He knew he was ready ā€“ he wanted to venture out alongside his master, travel the lands he had hardly seen since coming here, gather magics from far off places. Learn something other than what Kitherine could teach him. He wanted to learn more than what Kitherine knew. How else could he become stronger than Kitherine, said to be the strongest mage in Tane?

With a low groan, Narisaa snapped the spellbook shut, banishing the flickering flame of a candle with an irritable wave. He could not read those words any more. Not today. He had read them too many times now, memorized them to the point where they could never be forgotten, and still Kitherine expected him to continue this same work. Memorizing and re-memorizing spells which were of no used to him trapped up here in this veritable prison of a tower.

He was just working himself into a quiet fury when the high, songlike ring of a string of bells announced a strange presence at the door. Narisaa looked up, frowning. They were expecting no visitorsā€¦

ā€œAnswer it!ā€ Kitherineā€™s voice called from the next room, quiet and distracted. Clearly, the archmage was absorbed in his work. Clearly, he knew that Nari wasnā€™t. He could be interrupted. Narisaa twitched slightly, annoyed by the way Kitherine always seemed to know everything that was going on with everyone around him. No doubt he knew exactly what Narisaa had been thinking only moments before. The apprentice berated himself ā€“ he really had to get a handle on his thoughts.

Muttering a quiet spell, as though it were an oath, he vanished from his desk and appeared before the great black doors of his dark masterā€™s tower. Built of some wood long since extinct, without handle or lever, only a mage could have opened the great wooden barricades. Even then, most wizards could not have done it. Kitherine, who sat among the senior seats of the Conclave, had the power. He had granted that power to Narisaa. Had he not, when the boy laid his palm across the ice cold surface, the door would have eaten him alive.

As it was, the black wood gave way, swinging open to reveal to their guest the red-haired, black-robed young man they doubtless would not have expected. Few people knew that Kitherine had taken an apprentice. Countless times Nari had been mistaken for Kitherine, always an interesting mistake to correct. Sometimes he wished he could simply impersonate his master. It would allow him to return to his studies more quickly.

ā€œWelcome,ā€ he called in a soft voice to the visitor, who still stood obscured by the doorā€™s shadow. ā€œI am Narisaa. You have come here for my Master?ā€