It was an unusually quiet morning in human city. No accusing shouts
of 'Thief!' or cries for help from the attacked pierced the stillness. Only
the occassional crunch of boots on the newly fallen snow greeted the sun's rays
as they broke over the city's towers. From atop the roof of a rather
unremarkable building in the eastern half of the city, hidden in the middle of
a mostly darkened alley, stood an elven woman, her cloak left hanging
meaninglessly in the present lack of wind. None of the citizens of the city
took notice of her though, for those who could see her invisible form were also
those who knew the building atop which she stood for what it was: the Guild of
Invocation.
Her hood hung around her shoulders, but was obscured mostly by the
golden tresses of her hair as it streamed down her back. Her eyes were still
the vivid azure blue of her youth, though a close observer could tell that they
were now full of memories, events that had filled the gulf of time that stood
between her and her younger self, over 8 centuries past now. 800 years, she
thought. Had it really been that long? Gone by so fast.. She sighed, almost
imperceptibly.
Reaching into the folds of her cloak, she drew forth a hand mirror set
in black pearl, and regarded her reflection. Her face still retained its
youthful appearance, although her discerning eyes could make out the beginning
of aging lines here and there. Nothing anyone else could see, yet.. but she
knew that no matter what magics she used to postpone it, the lines would
multiply rapidly as she neared her millenium-day. No one else knew, or really
even suspected. Well, the Gods themselves, of course, she could not hide it
from them, but at least they understood that a Lady's age should always remain
a mystery.
She thought for a moment of the Tower that had been her home in these
lands for almost the entirety of the time since her departure from Darsylon. A
rather drably decorated place, overall. They still seemed to persist with the
whole Violet-Spider theme, even though the Violet Spider had long since faded
from the lands, and left the Masters of the Five to the guidance of Nepenthe
and Twist. It was just as well, she thought. The Necromancers and Anti-
Paladins would probably have tried to bedeck the place with skulls, blood, and
all sorts of garish reds, greys and blacks. Far too cliche for her tastes,
especially when some nice pastels would be far more suitable to improving the
color scheme of the place.
Still, it was home, and what mattered most was that it was the resting
place of that which she had pledged to, the Orb of Magic. A beautiful,
delicate thing to which her life had been irrevocably intertwined, granting her
command of the Arts Magical beyond any normal measure of such a thing. She had
even paid quite a few times with her life in attempts to save it, or to recover
it when it had been stolen. The deaths were not of such a concern to her, the
Gods had ressurected her each time.
No, the only concern therein was in finding a new dress quickly, before
anyone saw her. Had anyone seen her unclothed, particularly in public, she
would have simply died of embarrassment. After all, a proper Lady simply does
not do such things. The humans and other races found this attention to
propriety of hers almost amusing. Strangely, they freely changed in and out of
their clothing, right in front of members of the opposite gender without the
slightest hesitation. It was something she would never become accustomed to.
She at least knew better. She found herself correcting them often, on this and
myriad other points of social custom, and had been rewarded by being named
Mistress of Proper Etiquette by the God Nepenthe.
She also looked with disdain on some of their concepts towards fashion,
or rather, their lack of sense towards it. She was garbed in a lovely blue-
green dress given to her by the Lady Goldberry, in the Shire, one of the few
visible things she wore. It was enough for propriety's sake. Other than that,
her bracelets, beautifully carved pieces of ivory, and the silver circlet set
in her hair, everything else she wore was invisible to the unaided eye, cloaked
by magic. Of course, to any mage, or any other who could see such things, she
glowed as brightly as the noonday sun. Quite a statement, really. Of course,
few enough of the elves who lived in this land understood, much less the
younger races. One time someone had even thought to suggest that some tacky
hunk of wide copper hammered into a bracelet was better than the bracelets she
wore. Such an absurd notion, no matter what enchantments had been laid upon
it. She was certain that most of these people would wear rags covered in
canine excrement if suitably enchanted.
Another thing they could not seem to understand was her disdain of
armor. All that she wore was clothing. Many other magi who also dwelled in
the Tower would, from time to time, offer her a helm, gauntlets, or
breastplate, or the like, thinking the enchantments it bore more valuable than
those of what she wore at present. Of course, they didn't know how long it
would take to wash, comb, and dry her hair after it had been deformed out of
shape by a helmet. Nor did they seem to realize that metal gauntlets can
easily chip an all-too fragile nail, leaving her to spend weeks waiting for it
to grow back into balance. At any rate, those things were hardly appropriate
for a Lady of Noble birth. Circlets, silk gloves, and the like were far more
beautiful.
She was all these things, and more. In the passing of the time, she
had grown in knowledge, driven by her early childhood fascination with the
Arcane. After all, archery, swordplay, and the like are hardly pursuits for a
young lady, but magic can at least be included along with the other lessons, of
history, propriety and etiquette, reading and writing, mathematics, and such
that occupied her youth. For some time now, she had achieved the pinnacle of
her Guild, even though her title of Heroine of Invocation had long since been
replaced by the more fitting one she bore now.
If there was perhaps anything she regretted, it was that love had been
an elusive mirage all her life. She had been visited by many suitors, since
her departure from Darsylon so many years past, over that very matter. None,
however, had met her exacting standards. Amusing were the ones who were not
even of elven blood.. as nice as they might be, no matter how close a friend,
she could not bring herself to take such suitors seriously. No, only someone
worthy to be wed to an elven lady of her station would do. Even among the
Elves who had sought her hand, none had really even been able to live up to
that which she longed for. That one poor Knight, he had tried so hard, a
little lovesick child. Still, she could not bring herself to feel what she did
not, and besides, he wasn't even of noble birth, at least not that the Crown or
her parents would be willing to recognize. Thus, she remained a maiden still,
as pure as the day of her birth, untouched. Suddenly, she was drawn from her
reverie by the sound of a soft voice, echoing inside her head.
"Do you have a moment, Laurella?" the voice spoke. By the grandeur of
the tone, she could sense immediately that the speaker was one of the Gods,
though not which, in the way that the Gods can conceal their true voice, though
not their nature, from the mortal they speak to.
She felt her throat constrict a bit, and her mouth go dry. The
attention of the Gods was either one of two things.. very good, or very bad.
There was rarely any middle ground. She suspected, though, that she knew of
the topic the God wished to speak.. and depending on the answer the Divine One
held, matters were either very good.. or very bad.
"Yes, I am free at present, Lord," she thought, propelling the message
to the one who spoke to her by way of her mind. An unusual trick common to
these lands, but she had picked it up quickly, and was now quite used to it. A
useful thing, indeed.
Her heart nearly stopped its beating as his physical form appeared
before her. A gnome, to be certain, but far more than that. Far, far more.
He (it was a masculine persona, at least, although gender (or any other aspect
of their physical being, really) to a god is not exactly as hard and fast a
thing as it is to a mortal) was one of the Gods known to her, whose presence
she had been graced with in the past, although that was not exactly a small
group. Still, what mattered was that she recognized that the God Nepenthe now
stood before her, in all his glory. Her hopes had been well placed, for this
was who she needed to speak with. All that remained in doubt was the Answer.
"I take it that this is in relation to my earlier petition, Lord?" she
asked. The God nodded slightly, and her heart began beating more quickly,
despite her attempts to maintain a properly aloof social poise.
The answer then came, not in the form of physical words, or words in
her mind, even. Rather, without any ceremony at all, she felt a tingling
feeling suffuse her body, and a soft halo of golden light appeared above her
head.
"This is the answer. Welcome to the Heavens, Laurella," he spoke.
It was then that her now-undying, unaging body was propelled upwards,
into the skies and towards the Heavens, escorted by the Immortal Lord of
Order...
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