Sheleba Portona

Elven elder, resides with the Verikana, a tribe of ice elves


Helepol emerges from the hut and gestures for Rynyn to come in. Inside, is an ancient female elf named Sheleba Portona. Her skin is still mostly smooth, but she exhibits the inevitable fine wrinkles and frailty that come to all races with age. She speaks in a tired voice, “Rynyn, son of Rynynym, son of Rymynos, I know your line. I grieve that your kin have met a dire fate. Though we cannot know for sure that you are the only survivor, the fact that you alone of your tribe have made it to Rasht is most ominous. The news this year is bad indeed. The Claacos have their own kind of learning. They breed, much as we breed our hounds, and with each generation they become more powerful, weaknesses become mere hindrances, which then fall away as inconsequential. Long has the cold of the Shomaal sheltered us, but we have always known it is but a temporary respite. At some point, the cold will no longer hamper the Claacos, with the devastation in the south this past year, we fear that time is fast approaching. Though we are not ready, it appears we must nonetheless act.”

The elder continues, “Yours is a special burden. Your grandfather was chosen, of the few among the many, to live. He bore his burden well, but now it is yours. The life of an elf is precious, and many other elves died that might have been chosen instead of your grandfather. Similarly, many elves died from your tribe at the mandibles of the Claacos, yet you lived. I have here one of the few remaining heirlooms of the elves.” The elf unrolls a cloth bundle inside which are the fragments of a shattered blade. Rynyn glances at jagged pieces of fine steel that once formed a long sword. The pommel is a dark grey alloy. In the center of the cross guard rests a walnut sized lump of charred and blackened stone.

Sheleba resumes, “These shards were once known as Ivunstar, named after the stone you see in the cross guard. It was forged long ago in a time even we elves consider ancient. A stone fell from the sky and we elves forged it into a weapon. The stone from the sky imbued the weapon with energy that was harnessed and directed with layers of magic. We do not know when, or how, but the weapon was shattered.”

“Before the Claacos, we elves had a formidable arsenal of weapons and items to wield. Much was lost after the Great Alliance, too much was lost. Now, we have only memories of broken leftovers we could not be troubled to fix in better times. You must take this and reforge it. The only fires hot enough for this task are in Old Qehi or Mt. Gombadde. In Old Qehi, there is a crack in the earth where the ancient swordsmiths of Kavus practiced their craft forging legendary katanas on the bones of the world. Mt. Gombadde is an ancient volcano whose caldera still simmers with molten rock. If you lack the skill to forge a sword, then you must learn it or find somebody with such skill to accompany you.”

“After you repair the blade, various enchantments must be cast upon it. You must find an enchanter to accompany you. This enchanter must be human or some other race for there has not yet been born among the elves one who has that ability and can be sent with you. As I said, we are not ready.” Sheleba passes a scroll case to Rynyn. “On these pages are the spells that must be cast on the repaired blade. The enchanter need only read the spells to release their magic. Many elves worked long and hard on these. Protect all of this and keep it secret. There are many who would attempt to take these items and use them for their own ill purposes. Should you find yourself cornered and facing death, hide these items. We have ways to find them again. I hope that does not become necessary.”

“We elves mark time differently from the other races. This quest is urgent, but it will be many years before the Claacos can completely breach the southern border of the Shomaal. You have time. Spend it in preparation. Travel to either Old Qehi or Mt. Gombadde is no small feat. You must be ready and have companions you can trust.” Sheleba sighs in exhaustion, “Go now, I must rest.”


Sheleba Portona

Saga of Jaraah kenurion