Kace raced up the rigging of the mainsail of his father’s vessel, The Sea-Wolf. Propping himself on top of the singular mast that propelled the wolf-headed longship, Kace gazed in wonderment at the massive soaring tower, wondering how it maintained its straight rigidity considering how tall it was. He figured magic was involved somehow. Reluctantly tearing his gaze from the colossal tower, he glanced at the crew bustling around below him. Half were his father’s men, Highmen, and the other were Dwarves from House Cilrok, like Kace himself. He knew them all by name and grew up with a fair number of them. 

	Kace had received a summons to Ekilore about a month and a half prior. It was a mysterious letter signed only with a black sigil in the shape of an eye. He had spent a fortnight preparing, receiving blessings from elders from both peoples, Dwarf and Highman and packing the proper supplies. His mother insisted on Kace taking his best finery and his father insisted on half his armory. Their journey had been relatively easy. He and his Dwarven entourage of eight departed from his mother’s estate, where his Grandfather, Orik Cilrok still reigned as Lord. They journeyed for half a day across the border to Miraheim, arriving on his father’s lands where they spent the night and were joined by another eight Highmen. They rode for another day to the river, where his father’s longship was docked. The crew of seventeen boarded and sailed downriver to the coast, over the course of another week. Once they reached the ocean, the journey to Ekilore became a bit more hazardous. They were plagued by a storm that seemed to follow them, disappearing after half an hour, before reappearing out of thin air an hour later. The storm only lasted for half of their journey at sea however and the final leg of the journey was blessed by the gods with a strong breeze and clear skies, day and night. 

	They arrived at the docks of Ekilore in good spirits, laughing and singing shanties, another fortnight after departing Kace's father's lands. With the Sea-Wolf anchored at the dock, Kace set to work helping his crew unload all of his supplies that he would be keeping with him. After about five minutes of work however, he heard a soft ahem. Turning, Kace saw a plump, bald man with powdered skin and in rather colorful robes. 

	“If you would sir, follow me. We’ve been waiting anxiously for your arrival. Two of your fellow summons have already arrive. I’m sure your men can finish unloading, and I will show them where to take everything once I return. Come with me please.” Said the eunuch before turning briskly and walking on towards the tower, not waiting for a response. 

	Kace followed, shooting a look to his men, grinning confidently. They all gave him silent signals of encouragement. Kace and the eunuch entered the tower and into a library with the largest collection of books he had ever seen. His grandfather’s library was no modest collection by Dwarven standards but it could fit half a million times in this great tower. There was a golden platform in the center of the room that the eunuch was leading him to. The eunuch mounted it and gestured for Kace to do the same, which he did. Pulling a lever, the platform began to ascend. When it stopped, the eunuch led Kace off the platform and to a set of iron doors. The eunuch gave Kace a small, knowing smile, before opening the doors in a grand gesture, revealing the entirety of Aerion. Everything that Kace had seen thus far paled in comparison to the view before him now. He walked up the staircase before him, not really paying any attention to where he was going, just gazing at the land of Aerion below him. Once they reached the top, the eunuch led him to where to others stood, both clad in armor. Kace glanced down at his own garb, a simple green tunic that reached his knees, covering a brown shirt and cinched at the waist by a black belt made of twisted leather with a seax hanging from it, a pair of grey trousers and simple leather shoes. His clothes were of good quality and they were clean, but simple as well, making it hard to place his social class just by judging his appearance. He felt oddly underdressed but he hadn’t thought armor was necessary. Maybe these others had received news different than his? Maybe these monks would test them with combat? He did not know. But he found himself resting his hand on the hilt of his knife. 

	“Hail,” he raised a hand in greeting and smiled to the others, “I’m Karl Cilrok Ulvarsson.”