Ah, love. What a wonderment of fluid emotions reserved for those who did not have more pressing issues on their minds. He had felt it once, almost, ages ago. Before he had become Grand Wizard, during one of his missions, he had developed a growing fondness for the pirates on the Merciless. It was captained by a reportedly ruthless pirate named Grak da Gule. They had been terrorizing the coastal cities of the Silver Empire for a number of years. Normally, pirates were beneath the attention of the Wizards of The University; however, under the rule of Grak da Gule, they had formed into an organized armada capable of threatening the power of the King's fleet. The lands beyond the Great Ocean, having lost countless ships to the Pirate King, refused to risk bringing any more of their goods across the perilous ocean to the port cities of the Silver Empire.
The resulting decrease in what was once a very robust intake of import tariffs threatened the King's treasury to the point where it would not have been able to continue supporting the vast lands had Intellos not intervened and ended the reign of Grak da Gule. During his many, many visits to the city of Port Timberlane, he had the fortune of knowing one of the tavern girls. They had developed a great friendship that had grown into much more. So much so had their companionship developed, Intellos had turned from any other such relationships and devoted himself to her. She seemed to naturally understand him, and although she knew the power he possessed, saw him and only him. Because of that, he felt safe and secure with her, not that he needed any protection because he was quite capable of protecting himself against any and all foes. But he felt safety within her confidence and knew she would always seek him for only him and not the position he had gained nor the things he could and certainly would do for her.
After the pirate threat had been eliminated, Intellos returned to The University with the intent to report to Eborune his successful completion of his task and to ask his permission to leave its halls and pursue life outside of its studious confines. But before he was able to present his second intent to the Grand Wizard, Eborune informed Intellos of his appointment to Grand Wizard. Bound by his allegiance to the institution granting him everything he had gained in life, he accepted. Though he always intended to visit Port Timberlane and Lisone to explain to her what had happened, from the moment he accepted his position, he was swept into a world of impossible to comprehend responsibilities; responsibilities that left no time for love or other trivial things. It was then he chucked to himself, because after all, he was about to research the existence of Dragons.
Having obtained the proper writ of passage from the King, after he made his way down to the annals of the Library of Light, and after he had presented his freshly penned writ with the King's own hand writing all for the second time, he found himself settling into a quite comfortable chair. Before seeking his seat, however, he did ask the Lorekeeper for direction to any and all information the library possessed on Dragons. Upon hearing his request, the tall and severe elf raised an eyebrow and stared at the wizard as if he was expecting the punchline to a joke. But when the wizard just stared back, the Lorekeeper cleared his throat and pointed to his left, "You will find all the books we have in the far back of the library."
Settling in, and after gathering an impressive pile of children's book, all either completely about Dragons or containing individual tales of Dragons, several of which had a direct reference to the Dragon King Lacorion, he began to read. Rapidly consuming the endless amount of information, in part because children's books did not require focused reading, and in part because he was aided by a spell aimed at increasing the acuity of his eyes, he came to the conclusion that there was no useful information within any of the books he read. Nothing useful that is, until he made the obvious observation, hours after he should have noticed it, that all of the books were written by the same individual, an author named Hrinknoin the Muse.
Hrinknoin the Muse was one of the names Intellos infrequently encountered as completely foreign to his recollection, as impressive as it was. Most names he had amassed a large amount of information about. A few names he had very little exposure to, but they were often times contained to the woodland fairies. As limited as his knowledge was with regard to the fairy folk, it was still more than all except possibly the Lorekeeper himself. However, and he could not recall the last time he was presented with a name that drew no remembrance, either from personal experience or that out of a book, his knowledge was found wanting in reference to this single name.
He approached the Lorekeeper and was met with a rather intriguing response, "I have never heard of that name either. And that is quite rare as it is an elvish name, though one I am not familiar with. But it is distinctly Elvish. Did you try and search through the Annals of Progression? They will list every elvish family name tracing the lineage back to its beginning. It is a rather exhaustive study and may take you the better part of a month. Unless, that is, you get lucky and turn directly to the correct page. But that would first mean you would have to choose the correct volume, sub-volume, partial, then the page. And the chances of that are, well, beyond count. If it is of import, I suggest that you begin with the first volume. You can find it in the paternal names section located about thirty isles to your right. Volume one should be the top most book of the left most shelf."
Feeling quite defeated, a rare emotion for the Grand Wizard of the University, he decided to exhaustively sit down in his chair, allowing his muscles to cease functioning less than halfway into the sitting motion. This resulted in a rather audible sound as his rear and back connected forcefully with the plush leather of the cushion. Feeling something uncomfortably hard behind his back and deducing it was one of the children's books he had recently read, he reached behind himself, gasped whatever it was that was digging into his skin, and let it drop on the small and ornately carved table next to him. Leaning his head backward, he let out a large and long sigh. Allowing his breath to escape his lungs also had a triggering effect to his weariness, something he had ignored since his experience with The Book of All. But now, when his quest seemed all but insurmountable, he felt the fatigue seep into his bones. How many times had he prevented this or that evil from seeking entrance into Avendia? How many times had he stood in the gap, protecting the realm from whatever ills were set against it? And now, again, he was called to do so. Yet for the first time, he did not know where to look, or what to do. Feeling his mind waiver from the exhaustion caused by not only his current search, but also from the growing conflict between knowledge and something more, he relented to the call of weariness and drifted into sleep. A sleep he much needed to give his complex and constantly fluid mind a break from his every day trials of saving the realm and land.
Upon waking, he stretched his short body as a cat would, letting the full length of his arms reach over his head as if they were reaching for the sun, or moon. What time was it? It had been a very long time since he had slept so deeply that he did not have the innate awareness of time. But he did not sleep so soundly that he was not still aware of the task at hand, and its apparent hopelessness. He idly looked to the table upon which sat the book previously digging into his back. Staring back as if taunting him, was the unknown author's name: Hrinknoin. He was so exasperated when he sat down, that he did not notice he dropped the book upside-down. He picked it up and was going to turn it right side up before opening it to begin his study again in the rare event he might have missed some small detail during his first examination, when he paused.
"No!" he said out loud. "It cannot be!" again he stated out loud what would have been meant for the confines of his conscious thought had he not been so stupefied with his current discovery. He almost jumped up from his chair and hurried to a totally different section of the Library of Light. Bypassing the Annals of Progression altogether without even a thought, he made his way directly to the Annals of Kings. Still carrying the children's book in his hand, he held it up to Volume One of the Annals and to his confirmation, the author of the children's book and Volume 1 of the Ann
als of Kings was the same, at least, when the children's book was held upside down.
Cursing himself a fool for not noticing before, Nionknirh, the surname of the very first recorded King of the Elves was Hrinknoin spelled in mirrored form. Hoping beyond hope that this was a true clue leading him to a different and valid thread of discovery, that once followed, would present him with the knowledge he needed, he went back to the Lorekeeper, who was still present within the walls of the library and asked him with much excitement, where he could find the exhaustive writings of King Nionknirh.
Following the directions of a surprised and offended Lorekeeper, he found what he was looking for, or at least the portion of the library that may contain what he was looking for. He tore through volume upon volume of Nionknirh, exploring every possible lead and reference to something that could possibly be attributed to Dragons until he rested upon a singular direct reference to Lacorion, The Dragon King. It read as follows:
"But what dance can we make through the veil of holy lands. Yet the stars long to be as such, flying behind them, I see a great Dragon, Golden in His aspect and immeasurable in divinity. He flies where the stars cannot and lands upon the shores of our hearts. He is, and nothing more. Lacorion, the measure of all power throughout, and the extension of All that He is.
The needle's eye is narrow, and as thread, we must pass through to behold The Kingdom. Yet where is this eye, so finely torn, we cannot even see it when illuminated by the all illuminating light of the stars?
It is thus I have found it, and thus why I search for it again. Light shines most brightly in the dark, even so much as to light the tip of the scribe’s pen. Find the pen, and you will find the eye. Thus, find the eye and you will find His Spirit flying with outstretched wings toward the sunless brilliance. Find His Spirit, and you will have found the Dragons. And they wait, and they wait, and they wait."
Having been well acquainted with the arcane arts, understanding runes and riddles of all the known languages in Avendia, The Grand Wizard was well accustomed to ferreting out the truth between the cryptic connotations found throughout the endless words and verses and codes written in ages past. As such, he was able to identify several key references to specific and deliberate points of interest. Firstly, there was a vague reference to The Veil. Admittedly, he had no knowledge of a veil, but most of the time, there was present within specific pieces of lore, parts that were inherently unknowable. Secondly, there was a reference to where the stars cannot fly. This too was somewhat of an unknown for him because the stars were always present, even when hidden by the sun. But did that have something to do with the day? He considered this until he noticed that "Light shines most brilliantly in the dark", a clear reference to darkness. So, no day, and no stars.
But there was another set of clues that pointed to more solid landmarks, and because he could not imagine a time where there were no stars and no sun, he decided to focus on them. The Scribe’s Pen, or rather the tip? What is a scribe beyond one who writes? That's it! There was a mountain range deep it the land of the Dwarves that was so high and so thin, it was said to write upon the sky. This must be a reference to that mountain. But within minutes of his revelation, he began to have his doubts. Yet those doubts were set against a faint whispering of truth regarding his working of the clues. But what do the others mean? Should he not reveal all the truths contained within the writing of Nionknirh before embarking on yet another journey to another distant part of Avendia? Should he not relent to his ages long training as a wizard and trust the completion of his knowledge regarding the specifics before acting upon partial understanding? Yes, he should. But he did not. He made his way directly to the stables, but not before he copied the passage in its entirety in his Wizard's Journal.
The journey from the Elven lands to the Dwarven Kingdom was one of timing. Depending on the season, it was either as smooth as a master glass blower's perfectly created surface, or as perilous and rough as a carpenter's pre-smoothed cut, sure to give splinters to those whose fingers traversed its unrefined surface. For most of the year, the weather patterns were extremely pleasant; however, during the flooding seasons, the rains could become great enough to overflow The Tindronen River. And while these monsoons were necessary to provide much needed water to the surrounding lands, the resulting deluge would render the most commonly used passage as unnegotiable, thereby forcing travelers to take the much longer and much more unpleasant path through the Swamps of Gabbon. While Intellos would have gladly taken that road if he needed to, he was thankful he did not. There were many foreboding stories surrounding the Swamps of Gabbon, not the least of which was the existence of an utterly evil race of beings thought to be entirely made of an ethereal substance.
There was not much known about the Swamp Specters, but it was believed they gained their immortality from a direct link to an entirely different plane of existence. As this plain is thought to exist apart from our known physical confines, it was beyond the study of The University. As such, any knowledge Intellos had was nothing more than rumors quickly dismissed as fables. However, his changing perspective of reality had necessarily caused him to re-evaluate any and all myths. As such, he was grateful he did not have to negotiate the Swamps and its possible immortal inhabitants.
As it was, he made quick travel straight through to his destination. At the border crossing, he was delayed by a new lieutenant in the Battle Bound Dwarf Legion. He had traveled across this boarder several times and had never had any difficulty, but he did not recognize this new lieutenant. After having all of his belongings and supplies searched and verified as non-threatening (at least those they could identify) they reluctantly let him cross into the Dwarven lands.
The difference between the Elven and Dwarven peoples was mimicked by their respective landscapes. The Elvish lands were lush and full of visible life. The Great Green Forest was so named because it was said all shades of green could be vibrantly seen in any direction the eyes chose to look. Trees, endlessly tall and impossibly wide, were the predominate elements covering the land. However, the colors and trees came to an end at their boarders, giving way to the harsh and hard surface of the Dwarves whose lands were strong and stout. It was dominated by a vast and expansive mountain range that rose tallest at its center. Whereas the Elves made their homes in the trees, most often times carved into the huge trunks by their magics, the Dwarves used the ample supply of mountainous rock to construct their towns and cities. As such, the predominate colors were various shades of gray from the stones, as well as the darker shades of the rust colored clays, both mined from deep within the mountains.
But he was not searching for the Dwarven towns and cities. He was searching for its tallest peak. Because it was so tall, it was visible from every direction and from a great distance away. As easily as it was to be seen, it was contrastingly difficult to approach. Its base was accessible from only one direction. Luckily for him, it was the direction of his current travel. But as easy as his journey had been thus far, he was not deceived that it would continue to be so during its end. Approaching the base was one thing, ascending to the summit would be entirely another. After the first several hundred feet of the climb, the incline of the mountain walls became too severe to allow anyone except the greatest climbers the hope of reaching its summit.
As the propagation of great physical achievements is pervasive in Avendia, almost as soon as one had successfully defeated the mountain by ascending its impossible slope, the legend would be spread throughout the land. To date, there have been only four such legends: The great Troll Chief, Krocsis Itho, an Ogre known only as The Stone, the elven adventurer Brindoris Lasconial, and the Dwarven champion Cuhlor the Brave. Unlike these champions, Intellos did not possess their physical prowess; and because of a very wide and treacherous crevice half way up the mountain side, it would be all but impossible to reach his goal. And therein was the dilemma. How was he going to get to the Tip of the Scribe's Pen if there was no way to get to the tip?
Making his way to the shores of the Amuri Lake proved easy enough. When he had completed his evening preparations which included filling his skins with the water and gathering an ample supply of berries from the surrounding plants, he noticed that the pale light of the moon had risen just enough over the horizon that it would provide enough light for him to fish at night should he desire it. While most of the fish of Avendia were more active in the early morning and evening hours, there were a few select types that fed during the late hours of the night. And he had to admit to himself a freshly cooked fish sounded very pleasant in this moment. With his magic, he would be able to catch the fish easily enough, but he preferred to use non-magical techniques to accomplish tasks that could be accomplished through non-magical means. He found humility and gratefulness in doing so. He unpacked his fishing rod and lures, took a seat at the edge of the lake, and cast the lure as far out as he could. It was not until his lure rested in the calm waters that he allowed himself to feel the extent of his fatigue.
Convergence (The Dragon Within Saga Book 1) Page 29