Meeting the sage
Meetings, no matter how momentous, still take place in the world we live in. Even people talking of eternity sit on chairs. And so it was that the Eladkot, Tankar, Wyn and Foop listened to a blind, ancient elf named Embek as he acted out his destiny, remembering a great leader from his childhood who fell, a leader whose name had vanished beneath the haze of a powerful dwoemer: Kyrani.
“Khalak ak-ludum is properly translated The Valley of the Flower,” Embek responded immediately. “I hope you weren’t serious when you translated it Hidden Valley Ranch.
“It was a holy site. It was the holy site when I was a little child. The dwarves had found it: a valley of basalt and what they called ‘living rock’ with a natural stone formation in the center. The formation was a lily, 20 feet across or so. And natural. No divinations ever indicated that the Flower was created by any other than a god.
“The lily was our symbol, the symbol of elvendom, at the time. The dwarven king, whose name was Duma the Wise, immediately saw an opportunity to draw the two great kingdoms together: The people of stone and the people of the lily. He sent word to the king at the time, and to his heir, a young yet storied leader named Kyrani.”
The blind elf’s empty gaze shifted toward Foop, who was investigating a rickety shelf piled to the point of collapse with scrolls. “Master gnome, I would ask you not to touch anything,” he said, imperiously. “Again.” Wyn, standing rather bored near the door, made an impatient cease-and-desist gesture toward Foop, who ignored her and continued his investigations, this time without touching anything.
“So. Kyrani was a prince, the chosen heir of elvendom. It was the custom at that time that we would alternate between leaders whose gifts included those of warfare and those whose gifts lay elsewhere. Kyrani was gifted in warfare.
“More than gifted, really. Chosen. He was one of the favored of Corellon, and his beauty and fearsomeness while in battle were the thing of legend. Glory wreathed him, and when he fought, he gave off a light that denied darkness any room to hide.”
Eladkot broke into the ancient one’s reverie. “But, respectfully, master Embek … I have read some references to this Kyrani in ancient texts,” he said haltingly. “I … if he was as you describe, he would not be a footnote on small texts written at the time, yes? He would be famous. We would … everyone would … know his name.”
“Ahm. Yes. That is odd,” Embek said, his eyes seeming to search for a clue in the ceiling of his study. “I have thought long on this in recent days because … well, because I did not remember. I didn’t remember this, this story about Kyrani until a few days ago.”
Waving a hand to calm the outburst of curious questions, Embek continued. “It was as if a curtain lifted, and a part of my memory came back to me. This is unusual. I am old but I have not lost my mnemomic faculty – far from it. Most of my life has been spent in the discipline of keeping that faculty sharpened to a razor’s edge. So for this to happen is unprecedented.
“But there it is. Memories of Kyrani and the events of so long ago have come flooding back, and I have scarcely spent a moment of meditation since. I’ve constructed what I think is a good understanding of the situation and written it here. Young Eladkot, please, tell me if you can read this.”
Eladkot took the offered scroll in hand, unrolled the opening section and glanced at it. Draconic, rendered in elvish script, he thought. Piece of cake. But what he said was, “I believe I could make something of this, yes, master Embek.”
The ancient one turned his lined face toward the wall and said quietly, “Good. I hope it helps. Now, if you don’t mind, I must meditate for a bit. The last several days have left me feeling like a sprout during Leaffall.”
