Dark Sun: Into the belly of the beast

There's a bad moon on the rise.

Dax walked the compass across his most recent chart. Try as he might he couldn’t make sense of it.

Oh he could see the prince’s star in ascendence, there it was, right as he had described, rising in the sign of Luan, but it hadn’t been there in the last chart, in fact, at this time of year it wasn’t due to be visible at all!

Sitting cross legged on the sandy roof of their pokey (okay that was relative to the residence he had last left) building, he rolled out three, four more charts.

Then he checked again.

Then he focused his psionic energies into his centre, because being around all these apparently subtle magic users was obviously triggering withdrawal symptoms again.

But there was no denying it, the stars that had lead him away from the cloak of his ancestral city, the last of the Veiled Ones he called kin, the signs that they had called him mad for following and that had lead him to the human cities…. Those stars, that moon, had not appeared on any chart more than a year ago.

In a moment of clarity, A’el’ruen considered his actions. A rash decision for an Eladrin is one weighed up for less than 25 years, he couldn’t actually pinpoint the time when he started making decisions in the time frame of the child races, but here he was, an Eladrin in a human city in political meltdown, apparently guided to a person who couldn’t even speak the human language correctly, and stank of magic use on an almost daily basis.

What am I doing here?

Following the charts, look again, it’s all there, see the pole star of the Butcher’s Hook moving through the third quadrant of the Lost Shepard’s belt?

It was all there. But it hadn’t always been. A’el remembered one of the many tomes of his ancestors his people had studied religiously, while not trying to desperately renew the wards guarding their libraries:

“The movement of the celestial bodies over Athats can demonstrate no discernible connection to the arts-acana, and the multiverse, and there-fore are the superstitions of the child races and hold no baring on the lives of the Fair Folk or the Home Realm.”

But then all the divination magics in the world hadn’t predicted the short lived races could, in but a few of their lifetimes, gain the secrets of magic and abuse it to the point of destruction.

What did they know? His generation had entirely regenerated the Eladrin people, no longer craving that sick arcane filth, they had a purity of purpose, a focus of the energy of ones self. He needed no divination magic to function, he had the stars to guide him.

The first winds of the sandstorm took his most immediate chart and scattered it to the street below, he had barely packed up before the sandstorm hit.

Ducking down inside the stairwell he mused:

“Well I didn’t see that one coming…”

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