An air of Magic

         The four stood by the pool of crystaline water. It's was so smooth and calm one would swear Gerran could hurl his axes and they would deflect off the surface. Gerran walked to the bank and bowed his head. He stood in silence for a moment, and then fell to his knees, burying the hafts of his axes into the ground.

         Astarya stood and watched the proceedings with quiet detachment. Her ward, the tiny Feyan, Shallin looked up at Gerran's sister. "What is he doing? I thought we came here so he could ask advice on what we should do next."

         Sarthia, her white hair hanging down her back, smiled. "He is Shallin. He had no plan to ask advice of something as mundane as another man, though. He will ask of the wisdom of those who dwell beyond the Veil."

         If Shallin had any other questions she kept them to herself. Nothing disturbed the calm of the pool save Gerran's chanting. No breath of wind, no birdsong, not even the buzzing of an insect. The grass did not rustle, and the water did not ripple.

         Then, at the cener of the pool, the water churned and boiled. Something seemed to break the surface, but in fact did not. The suddenly violent waters rose of their accord and formed a vast serpentine head and neck. It towered above the four observers. The creature gazed down on them with eyes full of stars.

         The great maw remained closed, and yet the entity spoke with a voice powerful enough to rattle teeth. "Gerran. You have called, and I have come. What would you know?"