[b][center]The Transcending[/center][/b]

High King Falrir stood impatiently, his arms folded and his face scowling at High Magnus Tranyen Highspire whose prostrated body quivered with untold strain. He tried to rise, to spout more ancient words from his cracked tongue, but there was simply no more strength left within him.

"Halt, High Magnus, that is quite enough," said Falrir, raising an eyebrow as the pitiful figure before him tried desperately to clamber to its feet. "You and your mages aren't enough, are you?" 

"Forgiv-"

"I forgive nothing. Do you not see? We stand on the brink of destruction! The Gods have abandoned us, and they will not return unless they see us willing to sacrifice everything to reach them!" Snapped the High King; his face a thing of rage, and much unlike his usual placid demeanour. 

"There is so much strength here, on this planet," gasped the High Magnus, wiping sweat from his drenched face. "The humans sit upon magical reserves far greater than Gorika ever possessed." 

"Then channel all that we need - not the whole thing, Tranyen," said the High King. He was growing increasingly impatient.

 Though on Gorika he was renowned for his compassion, his justice and his courage, Falrir's sense of things appeared warped of late. No doubt this was down to his increasing concern over the lack of available allies. His people had sacrificed much to open the portals to Earth, and even now he was reminded of those sacrifices by the absence of his Queen. Yet, despite all they had given, the High Elves were alone - isolated - the other races, cast to fires of cold and chaotic luck. The dreaded Lorenvolk, with their false idol and evil ways were encroaching on the western side of the continent, and the Isarimer, so full of rage and evil, were storming across the Eastern lands. News too, had recently reached him that the Vrael had also found their way from Gorika. 

"We can't just choose how much we draw, Sire," puffed Tranyen as he slowly regained his posture. "Every time we open a link with the planet, it swarms us with power. I have never felt anything like it - we need more mages to help carry the burden." 

"There are none. Crimsonsky Citadel fell three weeks ago; the ground beneath it opened up, as you well know. Our people are doomed, and we are the last of them," replied Falrir bitterly. 

"Perhaps there are no more of us, great King, but the humans-"

"What of them?" 

"We could teach them to wield the forces they are ignorant of, we could use them to bolster ourselves."

"They are capable?" 

"Perhaps, I wont know until I try." 

The High King stood in deep thought. The humans were many, and teaching them the arts they were unaware of could be a double edged sword. He shivered at the thought of a hundred thousand angry natives storming towards Rome, hurling fireballs, lightning bolts and sheets of arcane acid. Still, what choice did he have? It was only a matter of time before the Isarimer or the Lorenvolk came storming down the narrow land of Italy, and falling upon Rome. He could not allow this to pass - he was the High Elf King, the Lord of the Elderborn, and the Divine Champion of the Seven and Seven. 

"Very well. Scour the city for the best candidates, use all of our available resources to quicken the search. There must be no delay, or hesitation - if these humans can wield magic, then our chances of survival may well increase significantly. We may not even need to reach the Heavens after all," Falrir paused as if remembering something far off in his mind. "The Holy Romans, or whatever it is they call themselves. Send an emissary - of humans, not our kin - and request the start of some kind of negotiations," he said. 

"Define 'some kind', Sire?" asked the High Magnus. 

"Tell them that we may be able to give them the weapon they need to purge their world of the invading evils that they face. That should be enough to bring this War Council to the bartering table," replied Falrir, smirking to himself.

"What would we want in return, from these filthy savages, Sire?" said the High Magnus quizzically.

"A wall of flesh to prevent our enemies from happening upon the city, prior to the Transcending," Filrir said with finality. He walked off towards his quarters, leaving the High Magnus with several unanswered questions.