Elisdrasil floated weightlessly between the crystalline web strands of fate, his eyes and hands roving the clustered masses with a focused intensity. Tracing paths through the shifting lines took a tremendous amount of skill. Even the lightest touch of his mind on one of the strands caused new junctions to split off, rewriting the very fabric of time. Once, before the necromancer had destroyed the Order, the wisest and most practiced of the Phoenix had been able to weave these lines, guiding destiny itself with their skill and focus. Despite his training, Elisdrasil would still have been considered barely a novice compared to his teachers. But they were all dead now and none remained to train him. He could only progress himself through hours and hours of practice, and endless time was not one of the luxuries that he had.

Elisdrasil sighed and withdrew his mind from the labyrinthine maze. The crystalline monoliths faded slowly, leaving their after impressions written in his mind in gleaming slashes. He opened his eyes with a fluttering start, his body slow to respond to the return of his senses. A shuddering cough wracked his body, followed by a deep throbbing ache which pounded in his forehead. He reached for a stoppered bottle which he’d kept beside him only to fumble it back onto the bench with tingling fingers. Frustrated, he gritted his teeth and forced the hesitant digits to close around the warm clay neck while his other hand pulled at the seal. One more dry cough shook him before he could open the bottle.

Warm, watery wine flowed from the bottle as he drank greedily from it, catching only slightly as it wet his parched throat. Elisdrasil fought down another cough as the liquid tickled its way down his chest, suckling greedily until half the bottle had been emptied into his gut.

Finally sated Elisdrasil slumped back into his seat and let his eyes take in the view outside of the carriage window. It was late, and storming quite hard. It hadn’t been storming when he’d entered the trance, he thought. Nor had it been late.

“One of these days,” he muttered breathlessly. He had been letting his trances linger in the fate strands for longer and longer periods of time these days, whenever he got the chance. It was a dangerous thing to do without someone outside to wake him. The crystalline webs were a timeless space, or rather a space encompassing all time. It was easy to lose one’s self inside those twisting corridors. In the early days the fate monks had told cautionary tales of fate-weavers who’d done such, letting their bodies waste away while their spirits roamed freely. At the time Elisdrasil had thought them nothing more than ghost stories, but now he knew better.

A building appeared outside the carriage’s window. First one then another, until the carriage was surrounded. The carriage slowed until it was barely moving and Elisdrail could hear the driver yelling something at one of the rare pedestrians out in the evening rain. Something was shouted back and soon the carriage was back in motion.

Directions, Elisdrasil thought. We must already be in Drachen. He shook his head, only to have the carriage’s insides spin around in his vision. A twisting nausea gripped the thin wine in his gut, rising dangerously. Elisdrasil clamped down on it, forcing his gorge back down his throat. The sickness faded quickly, only to be replaced by a stabbing hunger.

If the carriage was already in Drachen then that meant he’d been in his trance for over a day. Far longer than he’d even originally thought.

Stupid fool, he chided himself. He knew that he’d been acting foolishly setting up this trip, but he’d never thought himself to be that reckless. But some things couldn’t he helped. Enough money had been left behind by the Order before its destruction that he didn’t have to worry about that necessity. But the real treasures, the order’s magic and artifacts, those had all been lost to him.

And what have I done to restore them? Elisdrasil thought bitterly. It seemed that nearly everything he’d tried to accomplish since the Order’s destruction had ended in failure. Elisdrasil closed his eyes and willed the pounding in his head to stop. It didn’t responded.

A heavy rap on the driver’s window woke Elisdrasil with a start and he realized, somewhat sheepishly, that he’d drifted off in the few minutes that the carriage had been running through Drachen. He rose to open the window, hissing admonishing curses at himself.

“Pardon the interruption, sir,” the driver said as soon as Elisdrasil opened the window. Cold, wet wind blew in, stirring the stale, stuffy air inside the riding room. “We’ve arrived at the Ambling Dragon, as ordered.”

Elisdrasil thanked the man and told him that’d he be out in a moment. The driver nodded and hopped up onto the baggage locker. By the time Elisdrasil had managed to fully get his limbs under control the driver had unpacked his baggage and was standing on the carriage’s running board to help the Raieran out into the rain. There weren’t many in the nation of dwarves and dark elves to take a high elf’s on a five-day trip without promised return fare, but this human had jumped at the chance. Though he’d already paid the man more than enough to convince him to travel all the way out to Drachen, Elisdrasil thanked him and handed the man another handful of golden coins in gratitude.

The two parted ways, with the driver telling Elisdrasil that we was planning on staying at a coachman’s inn down the road if additional service was needed before tomorrow morning. Elisdrasil thanked him and made his way into the warm tavern light of the Ambling Dragon. It idly occurred to him that he hadn’t even thought to get the driver’s name despite their days-long journey and he shook his head lightly.

“How long until you’ve completely removed yourself from everything else?” he muttered as he made his way into the tavern. A quick moment found his prize. A pair of humans, oddly mismatched in their appearance, sat at a nearby table. They chatted amiably over a basic meal, and a violent cramping in his stomach reminded Elisdrasil that he hadn’t eaten in nearly two days.

Shooing away an approaching serving girl, Elisdrasil approached the table where his soon-to-be comrades sat.

“Hail and well met,” he said quietly as soon as they took note of him. He winced at the thin, papery tone that whispered from his throat and swallowed to wet his throat before speaking again.

“From the description you gave me and your appearance, I take it you are Remedy Blue?” Elisdrasil nodded at Remedy and offered a pale thin-lipped smile at her companion. “I have not had the pleasure yet to learn your name, but I am Elisdrasil, fate-weaver and sword-mage of the late Order of the Phoenix. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

A loud growling ripped from Elisdrasil’s stomach and a sheepish look stole across his pointed features. He set his pack down to lean against a support post and sat down with the others, his eyes moving from them to the platter on the table. “I do hope that that’s for everyone?”