Prologue
Desdomna
Desdomna
“The time is approaching.”
The six magicians looked towards the chair at the head of the semicircle. The large man was sitting partially in the shadows, and all that was seen was his dark green robe, shimmering lightly in the low-lit room. “We need to find this boy,” he continued casually. He spoke in a slow tone, as if he thought over each word a great deal before saying it. “Before it’s too late.”
“Are you sure it’s him, my Lord?” asked a young man hesitantly. He looked away from the man at the head, and was staring intently at the clear bubble, hovering a few feet away. “Are you sure it’s the right person? He doesn’t look like much.”
The figure that had appeared in the scrying circle was small; he was no older than sixteen years of age. The boy shook his blonde hair out of his face. He was talking to a girl, flirting no doubt.
“You doubt me?” stated the High Lord after a minute. He moved out of the shadows, into the light illuminating from the bubble.
At once, all of the men avoided their eyes.
The High Lord had grey, pasty skin, and dark hair with a matching beard. Streaks of white were seen in some places. Like the Magicians around him, he wore a circlet upon his head, though his was a shiny gold instead of a dim silver. What was most striking, though, were his eyes; They were constantly changing color. From a blue to a green, to a yellow then a red.
“Of course not, my Lord.” stuttered the man. He shifted his weight from foot to foot nervously.
“Do any of you doubt me?” The High Lord repeated in a louder tone.
The men shook their heads, a couple vigorously, and a couple slowly.
“I need three of you to find this boy.” said the High Lord, “All of you aren’t needed, of course, for he has not yet discovered his powers. Do I have any volunteers?”
No one moved.
“Nobody? Fine. Rook, I want you to go.”
The man who had spoken turned at his name. “Me?’ he asked.
“Yes. And Breshen, you shall go.”
Another man turned at his name. He had jet-black hair and dark green eyes. A scar made its way from the corner of his left eyebrow down to the side of his mouth. He nodded in acknowledgment.
“And…” the High Lord looked around at the other Magicians sitting around the table, “Rye.”
Rye’s lips twitched. “I’d consider it an honor, my Lord.” he said gratefully, clutching his cane in excitement. His greying hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and his face was wrinkled with age.
“Good.” said the High Lord, “Now this boy should be easy to find. Just Trace him.” He looked at Rye, the most experienced with Tracing. “This boy is known to be residing in- ” The High Lord waved his hand, and the scrying circle zoomed out. “ah, Philadelphia.”
