[hr][hr][center][color=darkslategray][h1]Edric Beaumont[/h1][/color][/center][hr][hr] Edric haunted the ruins like a specter, skulking around corners making barely a racket. But his presence, his energy could be felt. The magic that emanated from him. Some theorized that all living creatures were bound by magic in at least some way. The essence, the soul was their tie to the innate magical forces of the universe. The scholars in Brevyon were vocal opponents of such an idea, of course, quick to stamp out any mention of magic. To them it was perverse, unnatural, it's nature feared and misunderstood. Yet for all their ignorance and bigotry, there was at least a nugget of reasoning in their beliefs. Magic was certainly an eldritch force: difficult to control and quite capable of overpowering all but the strongest of sorcerers. It opened up avenues to darkness that could infect the mind and soul, warp the very essence of reality itself, and perhaps even elevate one to godhood. Yet to those who could touch the Magicka within them, there was a calling, an intrinsic want and desire to commune with it, understand its nature, harness its energy - whether for good or ill. For some wizards, the Call manifested a different way, with an obsessive thirst for enchanted weapons and relics. Indeed, Edric devoted many years to such a pursuit, plundering countless caves and ruins in search of even the smallest trinkets blessed with arcane energy. Such could be seen on his person, as each step was accompanied by the soft [i]clinking[/i] of necklaces, brooches, and rings that adorned his clothes, often inscribed with strange engravings and messages written in languages outside the Common Tongue. The sky had darkened over the hour-or-two he had been exploring, with smell of storm's approach on the horizon. Such didn't bother him, he'd weathered rain and hail before. But what caught his attention was the presence of another wandering into his discovery. He could sense the crackle on the air, the metallic sweetness of magic. The Wolf had sensed it first, uttering a low growl in its throat as a warning to its partner. Edric nodded once, scratching the wolf's head in thanks, smoky wisps of fur coalescing around his discolored fingertips. Stepping out to see the stranger proper, Edric was, for a moment, taken aback. An Elf: or at least one who looked like an elf. A head taller than he and thin as a rail, with fair complexion and hair like melted gold. [color=darkslategray]"You look out of place, friend."[/color] Edric said aloud, in a tone that was, perhaps meant to be joking. [color=darkslategray]"Brevyon's not particular for either of us-- certainly less-so for one of the Fair Folk."[/color]