I
In the Refuge of the Azhemyra
- Page Six -
The previous occupants of this ancient, forgotten, and ruined city had led very comfortable lives. They should have, given that they were all descendants of the first artificers that had given the earliest forms of technology to humanity. They had begun their work in the first centuries of the exodus, right after humanity had left the fabled lands of Hoelv to start anew in this world. They were those of the ancient Morthavi people who remembered how to harness the subtle energies of magic and the commanding energies of nature in equal measure. It was they who crafted the earliest and the greatest wonders that even mundane persons, with no aethyric aptitude at all, could use in the betterment of their lives. Wonders that were slowly becoming lost to the Hoelath people who had followed after them in this faltering age. If it wasn't for the Azhemyra's duties, their uncanny abilities, and their constant demands for perfection, the early human settlers of this world would have surely perished.
The rest of the room sat in the same chilled darkness that it had most likely remained in for all the time since the last of the Azhemyra that once called this place home, had died. That is, to the point in time when Maenthrai and her cabal had once again started to use the place as a refuge. The only disruption in that veil of ancient neglect draped over the room came from the very slight shuffling and rustling coming from the far corner. There, half-hidden in the darkness, with a reddish light setting a subtle contrast to his features, was a man reading a book.
He was covered in heavy leather armor from the high collars around his neck to the worn leather of his boots. He remained still, pushing with his feet and balancing himself on the back legs of another ancient chair. He remained quiet, save for the occasional groaning of his armor or the rustling of parchment as he flipped a page. The book itself sat suspended in his fingers just a few inches above his lap.
Despite his relaxed demeanor, a sheathed — yet readied — sword swung between the arms of the chair and the floor. The sword occasionally coming within half an inch or less of scraping the ancient stones below.
Maenthrai took these moments to dwell on the tired details of her room while she thought out the last few runes she must scratch into her letter. As she did so, her attention was pulled through the crystalline-windowed doors before her and out into the ruins of the city beyond. Much of the city still sat disused and abandoned, yet there was a small spark of bustling life near the center-most area of the city. She could feel the energy there being harnessed by those last descendants and students of the ancient Azhemyra. It was she that had found and brought them here after being alienated for so long from their home.
She had scoured a sizeable chunk of the Hoelatha Empire to find those still skilled in the arts of artifice and enchantment to help her. Although their numbers were few, they were devoted people who had traveled with her across the northern lands to re-settle this ruined city. They jeopardized their safety, knowing that by helping her they faced the same horrible monster that stalked the ruins of the north trying to find her. They had done so much in such a short amount of time and if the news that came to her was true the last of their efforts were now before them.
Maenthrai let her attentions come back into the room. She placed a series of more runes upon the parchment and then pushed herself away from the table. She lifted her right hand limply and in response the parchment raised from the table to float just before her face.
The parchment remained suspended between the light of the candle before her and her eyes, allowing bits of the flame's light to seep in through the fine vellum. Her eyes scanned over the runes in High Hoelatha script. The page was almost filled with horizontal scrawlings, with only the right-most third of the parchment holding much more complicated vertical runes. These extra runes held the notes for her courier who would take the letter to its proper destination. Her eyes, glassy with strain, flowed over the runes while skimming the words contained within. She didn't really take any of the information in, but she felt that it was far more satisfactorily written then her previous attempt.
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