#tynefell

Vent artwork.

“Uhm… Felix?”

“Hmm?”

The technician turned to Ellzra, drawing back from the worn desk to raise a hand and stroke down her hair, a little mussed up from running, it seemed.

“There’s- there’s blisterfog on the southern horizon… Kat and the scouting party are still out there. Mira and- and a couple of other people know and they’re getting people inside.”

“Oh… That’s good, at least people are being warned already. I’ll get one of the Drygrii to take a look and radio in with its ETA. You should stay inside with us here - are the doors closed?”

“Y-yes… And the windows. Kat’s going to be okay, isn’t she?”

Felix mulled over her question for a moment, head tilting, before he gestured to her, and the young wood elf clambered onto his lap. A couple of Drow and an Orc looked over, but they returned to their work amongst the sea of broken radios without a second thought to it.

“When the old gods were around, Tynefell was not called Tynefell. It was known as Riftside. Amur was the greatest of all the old gods, and he lived among the people in Riftside, his favoured form a catfolk. Magic was abundant in those days, and it was embraced, rather than culled or discriminated against. To the best mages, to the best warriors and craftsmen and kings, all with potential to do great good or evil, he gave them Amur’s Gift; nine lives. And… I’ll tell you a secret. Kat’s one of Amur’s gifted, both a great leader and one of the most talented mages I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.”

Ellzra’s eyes widened, and he chuckled, speaking lower, quieter in an attempt to comfort.

“That’s why she makes so much of an effort to protect the magical, in Whytelinn. It’s her town, and she has been around for forever… She saw the fall of the Archmages, Kyarlanoth’s rise, the last celebration of First Frost… even Bazriel’s exile… that was a hundred years ago. Believe me when I say she’ll be alright. Blisterfog is magical, but so is she.”