Cecilie Norwilth

Velentham had repeated his questions with four other council mages, when he got to the fifth one.  A woman of indeterminable age from outward appearances, Velentham could sense that Cecilie Norwilth hid her true age behind many layers of spells.  At the sight of the Celestial in her midst, she clasped her hands and smiled.  "My what a treat.  One of those seeking to do the greater good."
"A task in which you may be able to aid me," Velentham said as he closed the oak door behind him.

He delved into Cecilie's mind, scanning through the myriads of years that she had lived through.  To do such work took him little time at all.  He was more than skilled with mind mapping and traversal.  To reach into the mind and bend it to his will was one of Velentham's special talents.  He was known as a Mindwalker, and all his magic focus, when not bent on the total annihilation of evil, was poured into the perfection of this craft. It was useful when demanding information of demons, finding out things they had hidden, rooting out their deceit.  His skill was a light shone into the dark crevasses of their minds.  Then he would slay them with ferocity.  Now, however, being so far from Elysium for so long, he had no resetting of his internal barometer.  The absolute disdain he held for evil, using his talent for their erradication, was warped, twisted, and sending him down into a darkness of his own creation.  A darkness that even he couldn't sense.

Cecilie's mind unfurled before his own, until at long last, a vision of a keep.  He halted, delving deeper into the recollection.  A fellow mage was with her, and she was young.  They were having a picnic near a pile of ruins in the middle of a wide expanse of grassy field.  "Where is this?" he asked her mentally.
"Hordelands," her mind offered.  "Beautiful Ice Sea.  Beautiful day for a picnic."
"What are these ruins?" he probed.
"Long dead, long gone.  Winterkeep is no more."
"What of the portal beneath?  Is it there?"
"Lore," her mind offered like a breath of wind.  "The three hold the gloves, the three were scattered, the three are no more."

Velentham released his grip on her mind and spat out a curse.  The entire plan was for naught.  The vision in her mind in recalling the story pulled up what appeared as illustrations in an ancient children's book.  Three nobles that had to control the energies to activate the portal... Velentham's dream was wrong, and he didn't like to be wrong.  He wiped his visit from Cecilie's mind and cast a spell, taking him from the council seat to the inn room where Sanria lay sleeping.  He paced, he cursed, he scowled, he slammed a hand on the dresser.  "Father!  Give me a sign!"  Nothing.

He sat on the bed, staring down at Sanria with a deep sigh.  Everything he had hoped for was gone.  They didn't have time to chase down gloves nor a sufficient group versed in how to use them.  He sighed again and reached over, touching Sanria's hair.  It had been so long since she'd stumbled into his realm...

Velentham sat up, his eyes wide.  The elf.  The elf with Sanria... she had gotten them there.  A new plan revealed itself.  Velentham didn't need to find children's stories.  Velentham needed to find Kaliadra.

Magocratic Red Tape

The building Velentham walked up to was short and squat, three floors of red brick with the only indication of its importance the flags that flew on the various poles that stuck out from the building itself.  He walked inside on the heels of a well-dressed mage, still invisible, and checked the directory that hung on the wall.  Council members, naturally, were on the third floor.  He headed for the stairwell when a small, mousy voice called, "Visibility is a necessity to visit the council.  Is there something I can help you with?"
"Wh..."  Velentham curbed his rancor as he turned to see a short woman with a furiously red mop of hair staring up at him.  "How is it you see-"
"Sir, you are in a public service building.  Is there something I can help you with?"
"Right," Velentham growled.  He put on a smile and extended a false sense of good will into the woman's mind.  "I need to see the mages on a matter of importance.  I'm seeking a portal."
"Council convenes in an hour."
"I need to ask them now," he said, pushing harder into her mind.  "Might I go up and see them individually?" The woman nodded and uttered a small spell, briefly encasing Velentham in a cyan glow.  She pointed to the stairs.  "Third floor."
"My thanks."

Velentham bowed and soon found himself on the third floor.  The hallway was lined with green carpet and smelled musty.  There were thirteen doors, each with the name of an individual mage on it.  He stopped at the first and opened the door on Deron Winds, an ancient relic from periods long past.  "What is the meaning of this?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.
"I simply wish to ask you a question..."

Velentham walked in and closed the door behind himself.  He smiled as he revealed himself to the mage, a clear indication of his power and birthright. The mage seemed impressed, and listened while Velentham asked his questions, all the while having his mind peeled apart.  The man knew nothing.

"Thank you," Velentham said with a bow.
"I'm sorry I couldn't better aid you, it's almost unheard of to see one of your kind in this small corner of the realms."
"Indeed," Velentham smiled again.  "And we will keep it that way." With a wave of his hand, Velentham wiped the memory of his visit from the mind of the mage and exited the door.

Cache of Affection

Velentham returned to the inn under his familiar cloak of invisibility, after all, the less attention on him, the better, and a towering man with wings and gold skin was bound to command all eyes.  He slipped back into the inn room, the blue of the spell reacting, giving him access to cross the barrier.  He walked over to Sanria with a smile and woke her with a word.  "Wake, my love, you need to eat."  He fed her, he watched as she walked to the bath and cleaned herself, he passionately made love to her, he listened as she started in again with the damned questions.

"Do you think we could take a walk to the pier?" she asked, pointing out the window.  "It looks really nice."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because it's not safe," he said, only mildly irritated.
"But -"
"No."  This time he meant it.  The damnable questions, always the damned questions.  "We'll be leaving here soon enough and we're going home."

He touched her cheek and pressed lightly with force on her mind - he posited the picture of the white cabin his father had built in the plane so far from here.  He could have outright forced her to his desires and ways of thinking, but to petition, she had to be following him willingly. And he wanted her to choose him willingly... or... at least something like it.  Small coercion was a price he would pay.  He smiled at the change in her face, knowing he had succeeded.  "So," she began, "What will happen to the cottage?"  Gilean's cottage.  Damn.
"That... doesn't matter."
"Okay..."  She looked around the room and Velentham kept his irritation as quiet as possible.  "Where's the door?"
"Don't worry about it," he said flatly.  Given the spell he'd cast, he was the only one who could see it anyway.  "Love, I'm going to take care of a few things, I need you to rest."
"But, I just woke up - "
"I know, but I'll take care of these things and be back."
"I could come with you..."
"No.  You stay here and be safe."  He looked at her with meaning, pressing upon her mind, smiling into her eyes.
"Yes... I'll stay here."
"Good."

He kissed her, and it was sweet.  He brushed his hand against her mind, uttering his spell, and she drifted back into slumber.  Then Velentham got up, looked back at his woman, and headed out into the streets.  He'd find the mages that ran the town and see if they had any information for him.