The young, blue dragon Narcissus raises his majestic head at the approach of the serious looking Black cloak.
As he drags his attention away from the servants, his irritation is obvious. They were in the middle of presenting the seating arrangements for the first of the feasts.
‘Sire, I’m sorry to interrupt your festival planning but we’ve had word back from one of the mercenary groups you sent out.’
The dragon’s sinuous neck stretches out.
‘And?’ he hisses.
The Black cloak licks his thin lips.
‘And they appear to have found the orc camp you’ve been searching for.’
The blue dragon grinds his pointed teeth, sending sparks arcing around them.
Looking around at his four guardian demons, he signals them to bring forth his mirror.
Originally this mirror was meant as a way to converse with his mother but it has other uses.
The four, barely dressed, demons, carry the large mirror by its wrought-iron frame before their master.
‘Show me Fasssel wood.’
An image appears in the silvered glass. It’s the wood from above and everything looks, as it should do.
Narcissus peers closer. ‘Sshow me…’
He stops and turns back to the Black cloak. ‘What iss the name of this mercenary?’
The Black cloak looks down at a piece of parchment he has in his hand.
‘The message if from a Ranger, named ‘Clayton’ your mightifulness.’
The polished scaled head of Narcissus returns to the massive mirror.
‘Sshow me where the Ranger Clayton is hidden in Fasssel wood!’
The image in the magical mirror shifts until it refocuses on a small band of unaware adventurers.
‘Rissse up and show me the forest from above…’ commands the dragon and sure enough the scene changes again to that of the woodland canopy.
The Black cloak can’t help himself and leans forward for a better look. His magic is better than most of his contemporaries but even he gasps as he realises what he’s seeing.
The canopy of the trees is slightly translucent…
‘Sscroll down’ commands the, suddenly interested, dragon prince.
As the unseen eye floats down through the illusionary leaves though, the image distorts and then fades to black.
There is definitely something there but whatever it is, there are enchantments in place to prevent scrying.
‘Send reinforcements to Clayton’s position. Do it now!’
The Black cloak scurries away confused. How is it that a group of orcs, regardless of how large, can organise magics powerful enough to obstruct Thereanthor’s will?