The Celestial Seven

“Menover be merciful!”, the old man reverently whispered. He stood within the Menovian Grand Library, a place reknown throughout the ages for its harboring of knowledge and its breathtaking beauty. Composed of an area that encompassed over thirty kilometers of brilliant marble, it’s sparkling glass domes set in Chirean stone engravings and high fluted columns lent a sense of majesty throughout the entire city.

With a searing glance back down at the prophecy he had uncovered, he made sure he had attained the right translation. With a wondering and dreadfilled shake of his head he quickly tore out the sheaf of paper and placed the ancient book back where he had found it. Without a backward glance Vareden d’Ardene High Wizard to His Divineness, Alexcidan, Ruler of all Meridian hurried out of the Menoian Library and raced into the ancient streets of the city. A city that had once been the seat of the Menovian race, a race which had now long been dead. Now the isle was simply a far away conquest of the imperial family.

Red dust rose up from the packed dirt of the streets and hawkers of displayed their glittering wares in the crowded streets.

“Ironian monkeys!, exclaimed a merchant with pale skin and a scraggly beard in the center of a growing crowd of curious onlookers, "straight from the forbidden Mernin peninsula", - Beautiful pelts of all colors!” “Look at this bela!”, he shouted while holding up a female monkey. The little creature was exquisite, her rich sapphire coat a marvel to behold.

“Be the first to own one, only eighteen Igbits!”

“An exorbitant price by any standards”, muttered Vareden while shooting the merchant a harried look and dodging a woman and child carrying baskets of fresh fruits along the way. He continued to make his way along the bustling main street along the right bank of the Lesser Meno Canal until he came to Bard bridge, an elaborate structure composed of intertwined bronze metal and wood, molded and carved to represent a rainforest floor. Much like the tropical areas of the Isle of Denes. It was the only crossway for miles across the 300 foot red silt canal built over three centuries ago. On the left bank of the canal lay his inn, The Red Mare and finally safety.

Magically protected by shields, The Red Mare protected its occupants against unlawful assassinations, lawful being unpaid for debts, and arsonists – in a city filled with wood this was a big deal. He hurried in and immediately ran into Traitae, bondservant to the Red Inn and all around mischief-maker.

“Ss…sorry sir!” squeaked Traitae, “I was going to give Lady Fariden her evening meal”.

“Of course, Traitae”, murmured Variden with a twinkling eye, “run along”.
With a upward glance, Traitae went ahead to the stairs and with a look over his shoulder asked, “Would you like an evening meal, sir?”

Replying absent mindedly, Vareden almost said, “No” – but he spied Traitae’s expression and changed it hastily to an “I would love one, thank you.”
Traitae grinned and sprinted upstairs to fetch the warm meal to Lady Fariden. And with a sigh Vareden headed towards his ground floor room and opened his door.
He never saw the hand of his assassin, but he did register the fiery pain spreading throughout his chest. In an instant he died without a sound. His silence would reverberate throughout the world as a warning of the danger coming. The danger of the waking rulers. The danger of the waking dragons.

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