Email - Flying to Sayre

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The moon rises over a mountain, the pale disc cresting a wind-smoothed peak. Its silvery light shines through a mage’s tower’s darkened windows, the arcane sanctuary sitting astride the peak strangely quiet on the normally mystically-active night of the full moon.

The waxing glow slowly reveals more of the city that wiles and wends its way up the mountainside. The city is still, its people huddled under shelter. The normally brightly-lit banks of the healthy but small river, which runs from the peak to the lakeside docks, are deserted. All the night time revelry in busy markets, boisterous taverns, and arcane-based shows has been forgotten, save the lone guard who declared he wasn’t afraid of heights. Bearing a torch, he walks to the edge of the lakeside and looks down—hundreds of yards down—where the lake currently lies.

He sees the silvery moonlight sparkle from the strangest of waterfalls, formed by the river running off the edge of the floating mountain that was so recently divorced from its terrestrial home. The bright moon makes an eerie scene, showing the lake, which has now expanded to fill the crater where the mountain was, and the trade roads that used to be so filed with merchants and scholars, all headed to arcane colleges of Sayre, this city on the mountain.

The moonlight leaves everything so still, so peaceful—and almost makes it impossible for the nervous guard spot the three great, winged beasts swooping up heroically towards the city.

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“You have to understand, travelers, that we’ve never given—sold or otherwise—our family’s griffins to anyone not approved of by the college’s Circle of Archmages for seven generations. These mage-bred beasts are from a pure lineage of…”

“Oh, give it a rest, Haldor,” the scowling woman said, throwing more provisions into a traveling satchel. “We’re leaving within the hour and you’re still droning on about tra-DIIIIII-tion.”

The gray-haired man waggled a finer at his wife, “TRA-dition is what we have, Mürien! If my grandfathers had given up on tradition,” and he turned his back on the human arcaeologist and elven ranger to cross his arms at his wife, “then these beasts’ lineages would be sullied and their wings would be unfit to beat the air around the lowliest mage’s tower! And furthermore, you know as well as I do that Mithral-Edge-Beak and Winter-Spirit-Wings were read to sire the most majestic griffin, a creature so powerful as to be fit to present to the Mage-King of Doralin. And Silver-Arrows-Flight possesses a speed simply perfect for that daredevil, hot-headed daughter of the Lord of the Tower atop Sayre. …I just can’t give away…..” he trailed off, mumbling softly.

“Well, husband,” Mürien said with a voice dripping with the sincerest of sympathies, “Those are all very perfect plans. For very important people. Who are all very much in locked in an unending sleep like the rest of the mages in the world right now!” she yelled in frustration. “And we are going to leave,” she said calmly, “for the temple of Pelor in the capitol city to pray for the very salvation of our world. So, you,” she shoved the rucksack into his arms, "pack.

“And I,” she turned to the ever-so-nonchalantly waiting pair, “will graciously take their money for the trip. Hello!” she said with a very warm smile.

“Ah, yes, well, money we do have,” said the leather-clad human woman, stepping forward. “And, we can promise to bring you griffin back in the future, if it makes it better.”

“There really is no need,” Mürien said, and Haldor scoffed. She shrugged and gave them both an appraising look. “My father was a skilled seeker-knight in service to the old Lord of the Tower, and I can tell you are of his sort. With your skill, you’ll make better companions to our griffin than stuffy research mages and entitled little girls.” Haldor groaned and continued stuffing traveling clothes into his pack. “Now, why don’t you leave me the amount of gold I mentioned before my ever-so-enlightened husband began his lecture, and Haldor will introduce you to your griffin.”

Thia and Aidan glanced at each other as the griffin-breeder conceded defeat and shuffled out, waving them to follow. Thia rolled her eyes. And, thus they went to learn the skill of commanding the majestic and intelligent griffin.

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So, there are Thia and Aidan, having purchased three noble griffins to ride to the mage-city of Sayre, currently floating as an Earth Mote above the spot where its mountain used to be. (Never mind the detail changes, I forgot some things.) What will you do when you enter the city of Sayre, with all its mages and priests locked in comas? How will you try to bring Ttoridar, Hadari, and Kyra out of their own slumbers? Who would you like to meet to help you find the source of the magic-effecting malady that’s covering the land (and also ripping mountains our of the earth)?

The griffins are:
Mithral-Edge-Beak – brown, male, the strongest
Winter-Spirit-Wings – snowy-white, female, the most intelligent
Silver-Arrows-Flight – grey and silver, male, the youngest and smallest

Ali:
Ooh exciting!! Do we know anything about this city and/or why it’s floating and/or what’s caused all of the mages to go comatose?

Andrew:
Well, nope, that’s the main quest right now, that you don’t have any idea why the city of Sayre (and the whole mountain it rests upon) was ripped up from the ground or why all magic users have gone into comas (anyone with the power source arcane, divine, or shadow, but not martial, primal, or psionic). The most you’ve been able to conclude is that the events happened at nearly exactly the same time and that there are rumors that the comas are widespread and there are other land motes in far-off places that have ripped up from the ground as well.

Email - Flying to Sayre

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