Silma ar’ Megil

Silma ar' Megil

   Avælyn stepped into the lush grove, it was a place she had always considered hers. Very few people came here, the humans that walked this world had never felt the call of this place, of the trees that swayed so gently in the soft breeze, the pool that was fed from an underwater spring, the moonflowers that sparked and grew low in the grass. These were of her world, not this, but they began to appear the first time she had danced here in the Moonlight, giving thanks to Gaia for all her many blessings. Moon Elves thrived in the Moonlight and thus had many rites to the Goddess because of it. Now, she set about her tasks. The bag she carried was flat, appearing empty but once she set it down, she reached into it, far too deeply and carefully withdrew silvered blades. Each was set upon the ground in a specific pattern. If anyone watching would know of magic, of runes and glyphs, they would perhaps understand this but they would certainly feel the pull of magic as it grew.


   Next, she gestured to herself. The clothes she wore fell always leaving a nearly sheer, gossamer gown that matched her hair nearly exactly. It was hard to tell where her ankle length hair ended and the gown began. The dress was cut high to her thighs, allowing her complete and full movement which she would need. Raising her hands, she tucked her hair behind two pointed ears, the tips of which were blushed with a very light blue and then the girl stepped into the center of the rune she had marked with blades. Silma ar’ Megil or the Star and Steel Rite was always on such a night as this, a full moon and the air heavy with magic. The Elf girl smiled.


   A song spilled from her lips, one centuries old, crafted by a Master Spellsinger. She herself was such a being but her power was still weak, new, but it would grow as she aged. Twenty years was young for any Elf but all knew that her magic had potential. Silver flecked blue eyes closed as she wove her hands in time with the song she sang. Then, her steps moved in that memorized pattern, leading her through those sharp blades on the ground without nicking herself. Suddenly, on a high note, her right foot kicked one of those shining blades high in the air. It caught the moonlight over the blade and shimmered for a moment, the light infusing the blade and the runes carved upon it shone like the sun but just for an instant. It remained in the air far longer than was natural but then, slowly, it began to fall. 

   Avælyn moved through the others and at the right times and in the correct order, she nudged another blade into flight. Until all seven of them were airborne. Her delicate hands caught the falling blades and cast them upward one more as she danced, spun and sang, her eyes closed the entire time. The Elf lost herself in the magic, indeed any close enough would be hard pressed not to join. They would feel the joy in her words, the passion in her heart until that last shining, brilliant note hung in the air and all the blades had fallen, points into the soft ground. They formed a pattern around her, the mark of Gaia, at least among her people. She, herself, was on her knees, her arms splayed and her breathing ragged. Slowly, the silvery light faded around the girl.

  Her brow was shining with sweat from the exertion as she rose to her feet. Slowly, she collected all her items and bowed deeply before choosing her place to sleep for the night. The air was filled to bursting now with magic and it would ease her sleep, inspire her dreams and soothe her very soul. A bottle of amber liquid was drawn from the bag of holding as she sat down with her back against a tree. It was opened and the girl whispered a few words, a blessing of sorts. A drop of the rich Elven wine was poured onto the group and absorbed instantly and then she took the next sip. Smiling, Avælyn prepared for the night.

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