Deep Tides Pact

Simon has traveled to find aid in his war with the Dynasty.

The wind howled through the cliffs of Kael’s Maw, a jagged crescent of stone where ocean met sky with violent grace. Below, waves crashed with relentless fury against the crags, sending bursts of foam into the air like shattered stars.

At the edge of the precipice stood Simon Von Arizhal, heir to the fallen empire, bearer of the Seal of Changing Water and now, a man on the brink of something older and deeper than war.

The Trial of Tideran

According to the ancient scrolls, this was where the spirit known as Tideran a Primordial of the Deep Tides waited for those brave or desperate enough to seek a pact. No one had made contact with the being in generations. Some said he had drowned in the depths of memory. Others said he had become the ocean itself.

Simon adjusted the belt of his tunic, glancing at the small device in his palm.
“I lost my phone,” he muttered, flipping over a broken seashell where it should’ve been clipped. “Perfect.”

The wind snatched the words and flung them into the sea.

An elven cellstone what the high artisans of the southern groves called a Cal'ir Lens, or simply, a cell phone in the common tongue. A marvel of elven ingenuity, it captured light from the surrounding environment and redirected it through cellular light rays a lattice of mana threaded beams that created a network far more delicate and elegant than any of the Dynasty’s crude machines.

He sighed and took a step toward the edge.

The tide below surged unnaturally high, spiraling upward into a column of water that formed a staircase of suspended steps, each glowing with a pale, aquatic light.

Simon stared.

“Well, that’s not ominous at all.”

With a deep breath, he stepped onto the first stair.