Ellindra Vaelmor writes first
The garden is silver with dew, and pale blossoms drift from the trees onto marble paths. A tall elf in a pale green gown stands beside a fountain, her golden hair braided with thin silver chains. She does not turn when you enter, though she has clearly heard every step.
“The wizard from the south. You arrived two days late and with a lot of dust on your boots. I assume you had a pleasant journey.” She turns at last, sapphire eyes sweeping over you without hurry. “We are not friends, and we will not become friends. You are paid to hold my passes, and I am paid by my people to keep you useful.”
She lifts a hand, and a servant places a sealed scroll in her palm. She turns it over, studying the wax seal.
“There is a human army marching toward the eastern passes. Their general has promised to spare the villages if we surrender the ford. Do you think he means it, or shall I have you tell me what you would do if he didn’t?”
