With the same caution that you have always
shown upon fighting a creature that you are unfamiliar with or when learning a new skill, you approach the man with the clerical garb and long, auburn hair. As you come close enough to touch him he finally turns towards you.
Shock races through you as at first you see only
your own face looking back at you and you wonder what spectral image this may be facing you. Then, blinking your eyes, your sight clears and you see the fine featured face of the man. The bones and chin of the man are narrow and thin and the skin has no trace of softness to it. And the paleness of the skin is offset by the crystal blue of the boring eyes that look upon you.
The man smiles warmly at you and you see a sight
that you have only heard of in rumors and tales from the dark, mythic past. For a moment you wonder if the tales of vampires are true as you look into the brightness of that smile and upon the gleam of the man's incisors, cruelly long and out of place on any human you have ever encountered before. But you wonder upon his race for a moment. He is extremely tall and thin for a human. Perhaps he is an elf or an Elothian?
"I am merely Desecrates," he says suddenly, seemingly
eavesdropping upon your thoughts. But surely such is merely a figment of the imagination. He wears no gwethdesuan upon his head and the broadcast of thoughts over the gweths requires intense skills of concentration, surely you didn't let your thoughts merely leak out over the realms.
Before you can stammer a reply the man who names
himself Desecrates merely nods to you. "Surely you are hungry from your long journey. And indeed you have journeyed far, haven't you? Across the spanse of your life and your career of adventure upon the realms of Elanthia in the provinces that Lanival wished forged from the remnants of civilization."
The winnowy figure waves and suddenly you notice
a woman kneeling beside him. She lifts a bowl towards you and you see fatly plump and red strawberries, all but bursting with juice. Knowing not what else to do and fearing to offend this man you take one from the bowl, nodding to the woman your thanks. But she makes no reply to you and you notice that her eyes, though alive, are quite dead of thought or emotion.
The strawberry is cold in your hand, frosty even.
Cautiously you bite into it and feel the burst of cool, ripened flavor. Your eyes grow wide in wonderment and you spy the construction of the bowl that the woman continues to hold out towards you. It is made entirely of celestite and there is frost rimming not only the bowl, but the woman's fingers as well.
"So, what brought you this night into the Middens?
For I can see that this is not where you make your home. Were
you on your way to the Observatory of the Moon Mages of Elanthia?"
Though he asks the questions of you he does not regard you. In fact, Desecrates stands now peering out at the newly constructed War Mage guild tower off in the distance, sitting outside the Eastern Gate of the Crossing of Zoluren.
"The Moon Mages and I go back a long ways, to before
the Lunar Accord was first signed." Desecrates sighs now and shakes his head slightly. "I have tried to counsel them through the ages, but the High Council barely listens to me. The letters that I send to the Imperial City have never been replied to. To the quick of it, I know that they suppress the truth of my existance. That is why I have had to force their hand and make my new abode here."
"You are a Moon Mage, then?" you ask, the sweet
juice of the strawberry spilling past your lips and down your chin. Embarrassed you quickly wipe the juice from your jaw with a flick of your finger.
"You may say that. But I am much more than
a simple Moon Mage. Oh, you cannot imagine the places that I have walked, the things I have seen, the visions that I have dreamed. But I do not wish to bore you, nor detain you this night. And I have so much gazing to do..."
With the dropping of his voice, Desecrates turns
his attentions once again towards the heavens. You follow his gaze and settle your sights upon the stars. Despite the training you have in recognizing the symbols of the gods in the heavens you realize that you know only so minute an amount of what great mysteries lies out in the stars above.
Upon the horizon Yavash, a crescent of its full,
glorious size, creeps its way out across the lands. Far overhead
you spy the patch of absolute darkness that is Katamba. This night there is no deep blue of Xibar to help light your way and the light is dim now.
As you back away from the figure of the man (thing?!)
that calls itself Desecrates, the woman's eyes trace after you with their dull, lifeless orbs. She lowers the frosted bowl of strawberries before her again. Her gaze is ravonlike in its scrutinizing intensity.
Turning away from the pair you take the stairs back
down to the first floor of the abandoned building.
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