Two burly men rigged in makeshift assortments of ill-fitting armor flanked a pair of riders of slighter proportions. Beardless and pointy-eared, one cloaked in burgundy, the other in gray, the smaller pair rode side by side on twin white horses whose eyes matched the sky for their color and luster.

On the red shores of Zyllil alas
Did culminate the final war
That rid from earth the race of brass

Enlightened, all-seeing, with regard for all beings
He brought wealth to the poor and peace to the weary
"Right hand to the king!" the minstrels would sing
He was hailed 'cross the land as the wizard Solpheri

The Elm tree said
With bow of head
Why gather you together?

"Hush!" hissed Bram. "Don't speak of that!"
"You know what place we've uncovered."
"No!" growled Bram. "That's a legend known untrue.
I won't partake in such foolery."

She is born but a trickle in the Devanstock heights
Where she prances ever nimbly down a stony flight
To the foot of the mountain where she gathers her might
And embarks on a journey o'er endless days and nights