"Well, Highlander?" 

Isendir swallowed at Joseph Murphy's remark and callback to reality. He suddenly and somewhat embarrassingly realized that he had been sitting in silence for the past minute.

He coughed under the Court Master's, and everybody else's, scrutiny. "My apologies, my lords. I don't know how well my knowledge can help you-" he cast a furious glance at Omar- "but hopefully it will provide some...assistance. News of Iksyn's destruction has spread slowly, so do not worry if you have never heard of what has happened, or even of the name 'Iksyn'. It was a town that was, a mere three days ago, destroyed by dragons. Three dragons, I might add, although only one did the killing. The others simply watched and did nothing. However, these creatures were like nothing I had ever seen before.

"They were massive, and the beat of their wings felt like a hurricane. One was a bright green, another a beautiful pure white, and the last the color of the darkest obsidian." He looked to the High King of the Sylvari, who was watching intently with sorrow-filled eyes. "It might have very well been the dragon that destroyed Lyrenbel. But these creatures were intelligent." Isendir gestured wildly with his hands as all sense of awkwardness left him. "They knew what they were doing, and they had a well thought out strategy. They set fire to try outskirts of the town, trapping everyone inside and using their Banshee Call to lure them out into the streets in fits of panic. No dragon on Syrania has a brain intelligent enough to plan something out like that."

The room was silent a moment. And then, very softly, Highlord Vadrian said, "A-are you suggesting, s-sir, that these dragons come f-from another world?"

"I-"

"All this sounds like children's bedtime stories to me," the Dwarf King interrupted, his booted foot tapping against the floor. "Dragons from another world? Bah." He waved his hand. "Superstitious nonsense."

"Then would you care to explain these creatures, Lord Drenmyr?" Lorthrendel challenged with a lift of a delicate eyebrow, his hands held in front of his crotch. "Superstitious nonsense it may be, but the ashes of Lyrenbel's children are still warm upon the snow covered ground."

"I never claimed they came from another world," Isendir said in a small voice, but it didn't seem anyone had heard. He cast a glance at Ragnus, who was gazing at Lorthrendel and Drenmyr with an intent green eye.

"We need to find out where these things come from," said the Court Master after a moment of silence. His pudgy fingers drummed on the table that him and the rest of the Crownguard sat at.

"Which we have no way of doing," Whitecomb returned with a sigh. He waved his hand. "It would also help to see these dragonmen for ourselves." He glanced at the Sylvari. "Not that we don't believe your story, my lords."

"Strange magic anomalies have been detected in the Silver Sea," Amnestria commented. "Perhaps this is related to these dragons?"

"It is possible that they do indeed come from another world," a fae said. "Or perhaps they come from Yoshinda. There are many undiscovered species of reptilian creatures over there."

"Which we should make an effort to study," another returned.

"I do not mean to change the subject, but I feel a need to bring this up," the Queen of the Sylvanaar suddenly interjected, her slender hand tightly holding that of her husband's. "We need to also address the problem of the gods' absence. My people are being devastated by disease and illness. Without the clerics to heal them...they are dying, and there is nothing we can do.

"Many of my people have begun researching more primitive ways of healing, but it is a long way off from becoming effective. With all due respect, I think we should be focusing on that and why the gods have forsaken us, rather than mysterious dragons that pop up out of nowhere." Her eyes turned sad. "Although it is very hard for me to believe that our lady Lyna has simply abandoned her children."

"My people have experienced the same, my dear," High King Sebastien replied in a comforting, grandfatherly voice. "A wasting sickness is taking the lives of many of our children, and the clerics are powerless to heal them. My people have already been hurt enough. We cannot afford for even more of us to needlessly lose their lives. I-" The old man shook his head- "cannot watch my people suffer any longer. I've seen too many good men and women lose everything too soon...."

"We dwarves know for a fact-" Drenmyr laid heavy emphasis on the word and gestured with his hand to further highlight it- "that Byrex would never turn his back on us dwarves. If he is gone, it is because something is happening on the immortal plane." He defensively crossed his arms over his chest as several of the other dwarves nodded their heads in agreement with their king.

"But what if they have abandoned us...?" Whitecomb said softly, his brows furrowed. "Perhaps they have grown tired of our constant foolishness, and have decided to leave us on our own. Perhaps these dragons are an omen; an omen of the end times."

"Bah!" Drenmyr stubbornly shook his head. "They would never." Despite the Dwarf King's confident denial, the reality of Whitecomb's theory hung heavy in the air, because though they did not want to believe it, it actually made sense.

"We're blundering around in the dark here," Amnestria said with a sigh. She crossed her slender legs. "Without contact with the gods, we haven't a clue of what is happening. We will have to figure this out on our own. And if these are indeed the end of days, then-"

"With all due respect, High Sorceress, I may have a way to help shed some light on our situation," Lorthrendel interupted in a slow voice, as if he was carefully planning out each of his words and mulling over the possible consequences of his actions.

Amnestria frowned as she turned her head towards him. "Yes, Lorthrendel?"

"It is possible that I know a certain...spell, that will allow us contact with a god," he replied. His slender hand twirled the ends of his mustache. He was careful not to make eye contact with Amnestria.

"Magic." Drenmyr spat on the ground in disdain.

"However...I do not know what effects this spell may have on both my body and my mind," Lorthrendel continued. He glanced up. "This spell will allow a celestial being to take control of my body and speak through me for a short amount of time.

"Although, there is no telling who will take control of me. Zakan, Deyr, or even Hexi. There is a slight chance it might not even be a god. Because of this, there is the possibility that I may die after the effect is done, or I'll lose my mind. Both seem very pleasant to me," he added with a charming smile. "Unfortunately, a certain High Sorceress will not be very overjoyed to know this is-technically- a necromantic spell."

"What?" Amnestria jumped up so quickly that it startled Lorthrendel. She gazed down at him with a glare so intense he could practically feel it. Her head slowly tilted to the side. "You told me you destroyed those spellbooks. You dare lie to me? After all I've done for you?" she whispered in their own language.

"I never lied to you, my lady," Lorthrendel returned, casting quick glances at the other fae. "I destroyed all my old tomes, yes. But I never once used this spell, and thus I still remember it. Now please, High Sorceress...let's not a cause a scene over such a menial thing...."

Amnestria stood there for a few more moments in her fury, her fists clenching. Several of the fae sitting behind Lorthrendel gazed at her in terror. She forced herself to sit down, but the fire of her anger still burned in her violet eyes.

She gazed stiffly ahead of her. "I refuse to let him cast it."

Lorthrendel let out a soft sigh. "Forgive me, darling, but I don't recall asking your permission." He smirked. "It's my health on the line, after all."

"Perhaps there is a better way-" Whitecomb began, hoping to avoid a fight. Or, by the look in Amnestria's eyes, a murder.

"Fine." Amnestria smiled kindly and rested her hands in her lap as if nothing had happened. The tone in her voice was sharper than a knife, however. "He can do it. But there will be repercussions for this, Lorthrendel. I'm glad you think this is worth what I can take away from you."

Back in the witness section, Ragnus smiled into his beard as he gently swung his legs. He glanced up at Isendir. "That lad really needs to know how to control his tongue."

"Hmph. Let's just hope that this little spell of his is worth the risk," Isendir sourly returned. "I wonder what goes on in that head of his...." The two of them watched as the young man walked to the center of the room.

"I don't trust him or his fancy magic," Ragnus huffed. "And I am happy to see that my kinsmen share the same views. It almost makes me want to go back home." He fell silent as Lorthrendel took off his glasses. The fae folded them and gently placed them in an inner pocket of his robes.

His gaze turned inward as he concentrated on the difficult rune he had to visualize. He muttered a few words before raising his hands into the air and throwing his head back.

A loud scream echoed throughout the room just before everything went white.    

***🐉***

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