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<span>Spoiler: <span class="bbCodeSpoiler-button-title">Yslenor</span></span>
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</div><br/>For Yslenor, the visions came fast and frightful. For four nights she was plagued by the sights, the sounds, the<i>warmth</i>of distant, uncomfortable lands, and for four nights she dismissed them as naught but dreams, ever knowing they could not be.<i>'No dream feels so real as this,'</i>she thought. They were vivid in a way that even her foolhardy attempt to sightseer in her childhood had not been, so<i>real</i>that on waking the Snow Elf had to reassure herself several times she had not 'Teleported' like the magisters of old.<br/><br/>Finally, when it could no longer be denied that something- or someone- was reaching out to the Warden, Yslenor went to the Elders with her tidings. They were unhelpful, to say the least. Cries of "-bothering us with<i>dreams,</i>" and "-more important things," and a particularly biting "-childish fantasies!" sent her stalking from the ancient, ruined and now Everfrosted Fortress of Esel Thalas with a red face and a twist to her stomach. She would find ho help here.<br/><br/><div class="bbCodeSpoiler">
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</div><br/>Another night and another dream. And another. And another. Each time the same, each time somehow different. A temple, flooded and sunken. The ruins of a city once great. A... ceiling?… of stained glass, and each time on waking, she now realized, a strange<i>yearning.</i><br/><br/>Direction.<br/><br/>It was on the eighth night she made up her mind, though in truth perhaps it had been earlier. It could not be coincidence she had requested additional Wardens for Esel Thalas, after all. As Night fell, when the borderguard of the tribe was at its lightest, Yslenor stocked her rations, filled her quiver, slung a pack over her shoulder with her travel necessities, and ensured to bring a pouch of Everfrost shards- she could make more, she knew, even in the warm, but it would be<i>taxing- </i>and she set out south, against the wishes of the elders.<br/><br/>The journey was long. More than once she was disrupted on the road by men or orcs, most of whom she handily avoided, though three corpses were left in the wake of her travels. The worst part was the<i>heat.</i>She didn't doubt others would consider it warm, this was, pointedly, where her people had come from, so long ago, after all. But to her skin it felt positively roasting. Even Snow Elf clothing was laced with Everfrost and small enchantments to keep them warm in the frozen north, and she wondered if she would have to find a different set of clothes not designed to retain her body heat.<br/><br/>At last she came to the ruins, and the ravaged, overgrown slice of Elven history, she was awed. Esel Thalas was naught but small Everfrost structures, like igloos. The only building of note was an old elven fortress from a legendary expedition many millennia ago, and in all the years her tribes had been there they had not had the time, energy, resources or<i>willingness</i>to properly rebuild or emulate it. The traces here though were of grandeur<i>,</i>beauty, elegance, grace,<i>power</i>.<br/><br/>Her thoughts were disrupted by a voice in the distance. "Stop," it said, "who are you," and, light as she could be on her feet in this accursed<i>heat,</i>she set off at a jog to find the source, arrow nocked in her bow...