Creative Practice Day 1

Imelda sauntered into the stark chamber at the top of the tower. "Hail, astral spirit," she said, bowing low as the custom went. The spirit made a strange warped chiming noise, and gently bounced in her direction. It did not follow the same laws of gravity that all other beings did. Like a gust of wind rushing through wind chimes, the spectre's ethereal voice wafted from its open maw towards the Imelda,

"Greetings dragon. What might we offer you this hallowed night?" The pinpricks of starlight orbiting its form glimmered as it spoke. Nervous, Imelda took out the parchment from her satchel and held it out to the spirit.

"I seek prophecy. In two weeks time my people must cross the great water between our lands and Hektaria, and we seek to know what the Storm holds for us this night." The spirit tilted its head partially. She knew this question was coming.

"Why then, dragon, did you not consult the Storm Spirits in this matter? They serve the Storm in its glory and could give you the answer you seek." It chimed disapprovingly.

"Astral spirit, this I did do. I arrived at the Eastern Storm Fortress to consult their leader but when I arrived, none of their kin remained. The entire island was empty. I know not where they went, nor why they left their keep. So I seek your answers, as I have no one left to turn to."

"Dark tidings are these, dragon. Storm Spirits do not disappear without cause, and rarely in times of peace." Imelda's stomach churned at the thought of another war.