[center][i][h2][color=#dd5419]Calariel[/color][/h2][/i][/center][hr]
Calariel smiled shyly in greeting as the wizard spoke her name, and she filed into the room, taking a place near the back of the group with her back to a wall. She crossed one leg over the other, folding her hands in her lap, and listened intently to the goings-on in the room, as she couldn't make out much with her sight. Her ears picked up the hobbit whispering of Gandalf, but Calariel very much doubted that. She'd heard of Gandalf being in Rivendell near the time she left, and he wouldn't have come north like this. No, this must be another.

The spectacle of the wizard's mystery was largely lost on her, though she could imagine it. The thumping on the floor from his staff, the burning away of the inscription before that, the muffled thunder, the clearing of the smoke. She felt like she was in one of the stories she'd heard as a child, tales that kept her awake long into the night with thoughts of adventure and great deeds.

[color=#dd5419]"What are we to call you, if I may ask?"[/color] the elf ventured carefully. They were at a disadvantage, name-wise. And Calariel had to admit a great deal of curiosity, as to who had summoned her by name, and why her, among these others.