Meeting with Anchor Buhralmath
The meeting is held in the same private room beneath Settlement Hall that Kuserlion Faewen-FairyMaiden has been using for conversations too dangerous, strange, or important for the public halls above.
Ilyrane is seated when Anchor enters. Her injuries have been cleaned and treated, though signs of the long vigil remain upon her. 317 Unbroken Dawn floats beside her, its pale light steady and its rings turning slowly.
For several moments, neither celestial speaks.
They simply look at Anchor.
Not with suspicion. Not quite with awe.
With unmistakable curiosity.
Unbroken Dawn moves first, drifting a little closer. Its light travels across Anchor's dark metal plating, pauses at the mahogany-like wood visible beneath it, then settles briefly upon the green glow within him.
Ilyrane watches more carefully.
Finally, Unbroken Dawn speaks.
“You are made.”
A pause.
“And you are alive.”
Ilyrane's eyes remain fixed upon Anchor.
“We know those things separately,” she says. “We do not know them together.”
Unbroken Dawn circles slightly, studying Anchor from another angle.
“Your body bears workmanship. Intention. Assembly. You were shaped by hands.”
Its light brightens faintly.
“But there is a soul within you.”
Ilyrane looks to Anchor directly.
“Kuserlion has told us that your people call you warforged.”
She gives the unfamiliar word the careful pronunciation of someone who has learned it only recently.
“We asked to speak with you because neither of us understands what that means.”
Unbroken Dawn's rings turn once.
“We would like to.”
Anchor stays a short distance from the front table so as not to intrude on their space. Salute with a closed right fist up to left shoulder plate and slightly bows his head in respect.
"Ilyrane, you look... better. I'm glad for that. 317 Unbroken Dawn, respect for your vigilance."
Look at Unbroken Dawn as I answer its questions. "Yes, made, and yes again, alive."
"I do not know for certain, but believe whatever remains of my kind may be the only beings that can claim those two things at the same time."
"Definitely created, and yes I have a soul as far as I know."
Look directly at Ilyrane, "That is the name my kind were given, Warforged. Created by a process during the Great War over a millennia ago, but now lost and, perhaps better, forgotten. We were created and born to be weapons."
Glancing back and forth between them both, "My twelve and a half centuries are nothing compared to the length of your existence. I cannot even begin to fathom if it is indeed true that, unless killed, I might also be eternal. What I can tell you is that I am searching every day for what my existence means, especially of late. I would be honored to learn and understand with you both."
Ilyrane’s expression changes at the word weapons.
Not sharply. There is no outrage in it, and certainly no surprise at the idea that mortals might create something for war.
But she looks at Anchor differently afterward.
317 Unbroken Dawn drifts slightly higher.
“You say born,” the archon observes.
Its rings turn slowly.
“Not only created.”
Ilyrane glances toward it, then back to Anchor.
“That distinction appears important.”
Unbroken Dawn continues.
“A sword is created for war. It does not become something other than a sword because the war ends.”
A brief pulse of pale light passes through it.
“You did.”
Ilyrane studies Anchor for another moment.
“You were made with a purpose assigned to you by another.”
Her voice is very quiet.
“And now you seek purpose for yourself.”
Ilyrane does not know whether Anchor is eternal.
“But longevity is not eternity,” she says.
“I know something of the difference.”
Unbroken Dawn’s light dims by a fraction.
Ilyrane continues.
“If your body does not age, then perhaps you may continue indefinitely. But that tells us only how long your body may endure. It tells us nothing about what you are.”
The archon speaks again.
“You believe you possess a soul.”
Ilyrane gently corrects it.
“He said, ‘as far as I know.’”
“Yes.”
Unbroken Dawn turns fully toward Anchor.
“Then perhaps that is something we can know.”
Ilyrane’s eyes narrow slightly—not in warning, but thought.
“You were alive before the severance?”
Unbroken Dawn immediately follows the implication.
“Then your soul existed while Andórë was still joined to the greater order.”
The rings around it accelerate for the first time during the conversation.
“You are not merely evidence that a made thing can live.”
Ilyrane finishes the thought.
“You may be evidence that the heavens accepted that life as mortal life.”
She sits back slightly.
“That interests us considerably.”
Then, after a moment:
“But I think there is another question first.”
Ilyrane regards Anchor steadily.
“You said the process that made your people may be better forgotten.”
“Why?”
"Created is what I know, born is what I have seen in other species over the centuries, and feel is also applicable to me. Until now, never thought the distinction important."
"I accept that I was created with a purpose, and the purpose was to serve in war. That war ended almost at the exact time of my awakening. I may have been one of the last, if not the last, of my kind that came into being. Yes, I found other purpose, and continue to do so." Nod at her in empathy, if not understanding, in her change in tone.
"Agreed, longevity may not be eternity. I do not know, and simply acknowledge that the prospect of eternity is... both interesting and daunting to me especially after meeting and speaking to you both."
"Correct, in my time, I have seen that my feelings, thoughts, musings, desire for knowledge are similar enough to the other mortals to believe I have a soul as much as any of them, different though I may be."
Nod to Ilyrane, "Yes, I was alive, and so my soul existed, before the severance. I served on the ship that brought many of the first refugees to Agrovionimb."
Anchor tilts his head in thought, "I have forgotten much over the centuries, perhaps some built in limitation of my mind. Never thought of that, but yes, I guess that I might be evidence that the heavens accepted that something created can be alive."
"A most interesting question. I accept what I am and what I was built for, and do not hesitate to fulfill that purpose when needed, but it is on my terms. I have the ability to choose. However, I do not know that others of my kind had that choice. To create something for a purpose makes complete sense. If that creation is alive, forcing it into any purpose feels... wrong to me. I have never met another of my kind so I can ask them about it."
317 Unbroken Dawn becomes very still.
Its rings continue their slow revolutions, but its light settles into an unusually steady glow.
Ilyrane regards Anchor for several moments.
“A hammer does not object to the hand that lifts it,” she says.
Unbroken Dawn answers softly.
“Nor does it suffer the purpose for which it was shaped.”
Ilyrane nods.
“But you could.”
Her eyes remain on Anchor.
“You could be harmed by what was demanded of you. You could judge the demand. You could refuse it.”
Unbroken Dawn’s light brightens faintly.
“And afterward, you could choose something else.”
There is no envy in the words.
Only recognition.
Ilyrane folds her hands.
“That is a freedom neither of us possesses.”
Unbroken Dawn turns slightly toward her.
“We were made also.”
Ilyrane nods.
“As surely as you were. Though not by mortal hands.”
She gestures faintly toward herself.
“I was made a servant of Elumis. Unbroken Dawn was made for service beneath the same divine order. That purpose is not an instruction we received.”
A pause.
“It is part of what we are.”
Unbroken Dawn adds,
“I cannot decide that vigilance is no longer fitting to me and become a creature of harvests.”
There is something almost absurd about the example, though the archon delivers it with complete seriousness.
Ilyrane’s expression softens slightly.
“Nor can I decide that service has become inconvenient and therefore cease to be what I was made to be.”
Her gaze lowers for a moment.
“I can fail.”
The room grows quieter.
“I can misunderstand.”
Another pause.
“I can become damaged enough that what I do no longer accords with what I am.”
Unbroken Dawn’s light dims.
“But the nature does not change.”
“No,” Ilyrane says.
She looks back to Anchor.
“That is what happened beneath the swamp. I did not choose another purpose. I became unable to properly fulfill the one that remained.”
Unbroken Dawn drifts a little nearer to Anchor.
“You are different.”
Its rings turn once.
“You were made for war.”
A second revolution.
“The war ended.”
A third.
“And nothing within you compelled you to seek another war merely so that your making would remain useful.”
Ilyrane studies him with renewed interest.
“You became a sailor. A smith. A fisherman. A member of a family.”
She pauses over the last word.
“Not because those things were placed inside you when you were fashioned.”
Unbroken Dawn says,
“Because you chose them.”
Ilyrane nods.
“And now you choose again.”
For the first time, there is something approaching wonder in her expression—not at Anchor’s body, nor at the craftsmanship of his construction, but at something much less visible.
“That may be the strangest thing about you.”
Unbroken Dawn turns toward her.
“Not that mortals made life?”
“No.”
Ilyrane looks directly at Anchor.
“That mortals made life for a purpose…”
She pauses.
“…and somehow made it free.”
Unbroken Dawn’s light swells gently.
“Perhaps they did not know how.”
Ilyrane considers that.
“Perhaps.”
Then the archon turns fully toward Anchor.
“You said you have never met another of your kind.”
Its voice becomes quieter.
“If you found one…”
A brief pause.
“Would it matter to you what they had chosen to become?”
"I do not know how I would feel or react to being purposed, understanding that purpose, knowing there could be something else, but being unable to have the freedom to choose. It would be frustrating to me, but not if I were made not to choose or be frustrated. An enigma... a conundrum... a paradox."
"My mind cannot think through these convolutions, but I feel... sorrow, empathy, not pity, that you do not have that freedom to choose. Perhaps the divine nature of your creators would make the lack of choice easier. It is hard for me to express how I feel about this. I feel the mortal creators of the Warforged could create a very efficient weapon, but could not imbue us with single purpose. However, it is also possible that I am an anomaly."
"One thing you should both know, once my companions and I were fairly confident in who you were. I knew it was wrong to fight you. I'm not sure what that means, but thought you should know. I'm glad you didn't end my existence."
Anchor tilts his head a bit, "You did not fail, you simply lost your way for a time. Perhaps you can misunderstand and become damaged so your actions don't fit your purpose for a time. However, your nature appears to be the same and you have also expanded your horizons and knowledge, and returned to your purpose."
"I did all those things, some completely by choice, some chosen by necessity, but all done with free will, or at least what my understanding of free will to be."
Anchor ponders the last questions for a few moments before answering, "No, it would not matter what they chose to become. However, I have come to believe in a certain way of thinking on what is right and wrong, good and evil. Call it morality or a code of ethics. If they chose evil, I would treat them no differently than any evil."
Ilyrane listens without interrupting.
At Anchor's attempt to describe the paradox of purpose without choice, 317 Unbroken Dawn's rings slow.
“You are trying to imagine our nature by removing something from your own,” the archon says.
Ilyrane considers that, then nods.
“That may be why it becomes difficult.”
She looks directly at Anchor.
“You possess choice, and so you imagine its absence as confinement.”
There is no offense in her voice.
“It is not confinement to us.”
Unbroken Dawn drifts slightly upward.
“I do not experience my nature as a command preventing me from becoming something else.”
A small pulse of light.
“There is no other self within me attempting to escape.”
Ilyrane continues.
“Your empathy is kindly meant. But you need not grieve for us on that account.”
She pauses.
“Perhaps there are freedoms you possess that we cannot understand from within ourselves, just as there are parts of our existence that cannot be translated cleanly into mortal experience.”
Unbroken Dawn turns toward Anchor.
“But the distinction is useful.”
Its rings revolve once.
“You were made with intention.”
Another turn.
“Yet intention did not define you.”
Ilyrane's gaze settles briefly on the green light beneath Anchor's plating.
“Whether that was deliberate on the part of your makers, an inability on their part, or something they did not understand they had accomplished, we cannot know.”
Unbroken Dawn brightens.
“Nor can we know whether you are unusual among your people.”
Ilyrane nods.
“One example cannot establish the nature of an entire kind.”
Then Anchor speaks of the temple.
Neither celestial replies immediately.
Unbroken Dawn's light contracts slightly.
Ilyrane's expression becomes quieter.
“You knew fighting me was wrong.”
It is not phrased as a question.
“You knew what I was, or believed you did, and still recognized that what stood before you was not acting as it should.”
Her eyes lower.
“That judgment was correct.”
Unbroken Dawn adds softly,
“And dangerous.”
Ilyrane looks back to Anchor.
“I am also glad that I did not end your existence.”
There is no attempt to soften what might have happened.
“You showed restraint toward me when restraint carried risk.”
A pause.
“I will remember that.”
When Anchor tells her that she did not fail, Ilyrane is silent for longer.
Finally, she says:
“You are generous in your distinction.”
Unbroken Dawn's rings slow almost imperceptibly.
Ilyrane continues.
“I did fail.”
Her tone remains calm.
“That does not mean I ceased to be what I am. Nor does it mean the failure became my nature.”
She looks toward Unbroken Dawn.
“It preserved the truth when I could not.”
The archon answers simply.
“Yes.”
“And when the truth was placed before me in a form I could finally receive…”
Ilyrane looks back toward Anchor.
“…I returned to it.”
A very slight inclination of her head.
“Perhaps lost my way is not entirely wrong.”
Unbroken Dawn glows a little brighter.
“Provided we remember that there remained a way to lose.”
Ilyrane gives the archon a small look, then returns her attention to Anchor.
At his description of free will, morality, and how he would judge another warforged, Unbroken Dawn listens with particular attention.
“So the fact of shared making would not excuse what they chose.”
“No,” Ilyrane says quietly. “Nor condemn it.”
Unbroken Dawn turns toward her.
“They would be judged by action.”
“And intention, where it could be known.”
The archon returns its attention to Anchor.
“That also seems very mortal.”
Ilyrane nods.
“To possess freedom is to possess the possibility of using it badly.”
She pauses.
“And still consider the freedom worth having.”
For a moment, neither celestial speaks.
Then Unbroken Dawn drifts back toward Ilyrane.
“Anchor Buhralmath.”
Its voice is gentle.
“Thank you.”
Its rings make one slow revolution.
“You have answered questions we did not know how to ask before meeting you.”
Ilyrane inclines her head to him.
“And you have given us considerably more to think about than we expected.”
There is the faintest trace of warmth in her expression.
“We asked you here because we wished to understand you.”
A pause.
“It would be discourteous to make the exchange travel only in one direction.”
Unbroken Dawn's light brightens.
“You may ask us what you wish.”
Ilyrane adds, with characteristic precision:
“If we know, we will answer.”
“And if we do not,” says Unbroken Dawn, “we will say so.”
"I would not presume to understand how the history of the distant past that you both know might aid us now. In your talks with Kurselion and the other Council members, is there anything that they have brought up that hints at something that you believe, not know, might be of help dealing with the effects coming from the Temple? I understand this topic is... difficult due to your perceived failing. I still do not agree with that assessment, but that difference of opinion is irrelevant."
"Is there anything that can be done to restore, aid, or redirect the other archons to restore them to full function?"
"Since we have no current solution to the fact that Tuulla did not recover Elumis, can you do anything to assist or shield the people here in Agrovionimb from the effects?"
"Will you be returning to the Temple or staying here, or a combination of the two?"
"What are your thoughts on the possibility of the Council revealing your existence and abilities to the populace? Do you think that you might be able to help explain to the people and help keep things stable while my companions, the Dawn Seeker crew, and I seek out a more permanent solution?"
"Understanding that you do not know anything beyond what you have learned about recent history, is there anything in your knowledge of the Gods that might offer a hint as to a course of action to determine what really happened at time of the severance?"
"Have you attempted any communication with those associated or above you in the divine authority? Not necessarily the gods themselves, but other servants of the gods."
"Is there an explanation why, if the Gods are cut off in some way, either unable to see or touch this world, or severed, or dead, though I do not believe that to be the case, why you still retain your divine powers? I do not believe the gods gone, not through any logic, but a feeling that they are still there that I cannot explain."
Ilyrane listens as Anchor asks his questions one after another.
By the third, 317 Unbroken Dawn's rings have begun turning more slowly, as though the archon is arranging the questions rather than merely waiting to answer them.
When Anchor finishes, Ilyrane remains silent for several breaths.
“You ask better questions than most mortals we have spoken with since leaving the temple.”
Unbroken Dawn brightens.
“They are also numerous.”
Ilyrane looks toward it.
“Yes.”
The archon dims slightly.
Ilyrane begins with the first.
“What Kuserlion and the council have shown us has given us possibilities. Not answers.”
She is careful with the distinction.
“We did not know the history that followed our vigil. We did not know your Great Nations. Your gates. Your wars. The severance. We knew none of them until they were explained to us.”
Unbroken Dawn drifts closer.
“But now we know that your world has suffered more than one wound.”
Ilyrane nods.
“The condition beneath the swamp is not something I recognize from divine teaching. A god died. She was not collected. Her remains endured for an age beyond measure, and something of what she was has spread into the world around her.”
Her expression tightens almost imperceptibly.
“There is no rite I know for that because there should never have been need for one.”
Unbroken Dawn speaks.
“But the histories have shown us that mortals learned to measure things the heavens did not teach them to measure. They learned to manipulate forces they did not create. They preserved knowledge about gods, planes, souls, magic, and the boundaries between them.”
Ilyrane looks back to Anchor.
“That suggests something to me.”
A pause.
“Do not assume that because mortals cannot perform Tuulla's duty, mortals can therefore do nothing.”
She lets that settle.
“You may be able to understand the wound without being able to close it. You may be able to lessen its consequences without being able to correct its cause. You may discover something that gives Tuulla, or another power properly appointed, a way to reach what presently cannot be reached.”
Unbroken Dawn gives a faint pulse.
“Possibility.”
“Yes,” Ilyrane says. “Only possibility.”
She moves to Anchor's next question.
“The four remaining archons concern me.”
There is no hesitation there.
“They are diminished. They remained true to the vigil, but remaining has injured them.”
Unbroken Dawn's light softens.
“They hold fragments of what they were.”
“I do not yet know whether they can be wholly restored,” Ilyrane says. “But I intend to try.”
She glances toward the archon beside her.
“Unbroken Dawn endured differently. That may help us understand what was lost in the others.”
The archon turns one slow revolution.
“They did not cease serving.”
“No.”
“They became less able to serve.”
“Yes.”
Ilyrane looks again at Anchor.
“That matters. If their nature remains intact beneath the damage, then restoration may be possible. I can mend some injuries of body, spirit, and enchantment. Whether what has happened to them lies within those powers, I do not yet know.”
Her answer to the next question comes more quickly.
“I can help the people of Agrovionimb.”
Then she qualifies it.
“I cannot shield an entire island from Elumis.”
Unbroken Dawn adds,
“Not continuously. Not completely.”
“But I may be able to identify those most affected. I can recognize some forms of corruption and injury that mortal senses cannot. I can heal. I can remove certain afflictions and curses. If prolonged exposure has harmed particular people in ways my power can reach, I may be able to relieve that harm.”
She pauses.
“That treats the wounded.”
Unbroken Dawn finishes:
“Not the wound.”
Ilyrane nods.
“If there are places where the influence is stronger, I may also be able to help your people recognize them. Perhaps boundaries can be established. Perhaps exposure can be reduced.”
Another pause.
“But I will not promise protection I cannot provide.”
At Anchor's question about the temple, Ilyrane's answer is immediate.
“I will return.”
There is no uncertainty in it.
“The Lady remains below.”
Unbroken Dawn's light stays steady.
“The vigil continues.”
Ilyrane looks toward Anchor.
“The presence of the four archons allowed me to leave without leaving Elumis unattended. That does not make my service ended.”
She considers the mortal language before continuing.
“But remaining beside her every moment is no longer the only faithful expression of that service.”
That distinction clearly matters to her.
“I can return to the temple. I can tend the archons. I can observe the Lady. And I can come here when what has been learned above may serve what remains below.”
Unbroken Dawn turns toward her.
“We carry knowledge in both directions.”
“Yes.”
“So,” Ilyrane says to Anchor, “a combination, as you put it.”
The question of revealing them to Agrovionimb produces a longer silence.
Unbroken Dawn answers first.
“Kuserlion fears what Ilyrane's gifts would mean to people who have lived without them.”
Ilyrane nods.
“He is correct to fear it.”
She does not sound pleased by the conclusion.
“If the people are told that I can heal wounds, remove afflictions, and sometimes call a newly departed soul back into its body, some will see proof that the gods have returned.”
“They have not,” Unbroken Dawn says.
“Some will see a promise that death may be reversed.”
“It cannot always be.”
“Some will believe access to me should belong to them.”
Unbroken Dawn's rings turn once.
“And grief is not orderly.”
“No.”
Ilyrane folds her hands.
“I do not object to being known.”
That distinction, too, seems important.
“I am not hiding myself for my own protection or comfort. But revelation should serve the city rather than merely satisfy truth.”
She looks at Anchor.
“If Kuserlion and the council determine that our presence can steady the people, then I will speak truthfully to them.”
Unbroken Dawn brightens.
“As will I.”
“But we will not tell them that the gods have returned when we do not know that. We will not tell them Elumis can be restored when we do not know that. We will not promise that Agrovionimb can be saved because we are here.”
Ilyrane's voice becomes gentler.
“We can tell them that they are not mad for feeling what rises from beneath the swamp.”
A pause.
“We can tell them that what afflicts their home is real.”
Another.
“And we can tell them that people are seeking an answer.”
Unbroken Dawn's light swells faintly.
“That may be enough truth for hope without giving them false hope.”
Ilyrane's eyes move briefly toward the archon at the choice of words, but she does not correct it.
Anchor's question about the severance draws both celestials into silence again.
Finally Ilyrane says,
“What you call the severance altered too many things at once.”
“Divine petition,” says Unbroken Dawn.
“Planar passage.”
“Dreams.”
“The passage or destination of souls.”
“And the Great Gates.”
Ilyrane nods.
“If only clerics had lost access to their gods, I would suspect the path between worshipper and deity.”
“If only planar travel had failed,” Unbroken Dawn says, “we would suspect the boundaries of planes.”
“If only dreams had ceased, we would look toward the realm from which dreams came.”
Ilyrane's gaze steadies on Anchor.
“But all of these occurred together.”
“So the injury may be beneath all of them.”
“Or around all of them.”
Unbroken Dawn's light flickers.
“Or Andórë itself may have been moved into a condition where those things no longer reach it as they once did.”
Ilyrane nods.
“That is speculation. But if you seek to understand the severance, I would not begin by asking only, ‘What happened to the gods?’”
She pauses.
“I would ask: What happened to Andórë?”
Unbroken Dawn adds,
“And what changed at the exact moment the world became silent.”
When Anchor asks whether they have attempted communication, Ilyrane's expression changes slightly.
“Yes.”
Unbroken Dawn grows very still.
“I have reached upward through the order by which I was made to communicate.”
A pause.
“No answer has returned.”
“I cannot tell you why.”
Unbroken Dawn adds,
“An unanswered call does not tell the caller whether the listener is absent.”
“Or unable to answer.”
“Or whether the path between them is broken.”
“Or whether the call never arrived.”
Ilyrane nods.
“I will continue to attempt it when it is proper to do so.”
Then comes Anchor's final question.
This time, Ilyrane seems almost surprised by the premise.
“My power is not being sent to me.”
Unbroken Dawn brightens immediately.
“Nor mine.”
Ilyrane gestures faintly toward herself.
“I am divine.”
Not boastfully. Simply as classification.
“What I am was placed within me when I was made. The power by which I mend, restore, perceive, and act is part of my nature.”
Unbroken Dawn turns slowly in the air.
“A lantern does not require the hand that lit it to remain beside it in order to continue burning.”
Ilyrane considers the metaphor.
“Imperfect, but sufficient.”
She continues.
“A mortal cleric is different. The cleric is mortal. The divine power used through that mortal is bestowed when needed. The god remains the source.”
“A conduit,” Unbroken Dawn says.
“Yes.”
Ilyrane touches her chest lightly.
“I am not a conduit in that sense.”
Unbroken Dawn's glow strengthens.
“We were made carrying the flame.”
“And so the silence of the gods does not extinguish us.”
Ilyrane becomes thoughtful.
“In fact, Anchor, that difference may tell us something.”
She does not overstate it.
“Not what happened. But something.”
Unbroken Dawn turns toward her.
“The divine has not ceased to exist simply because Andórë cannot presently receive it from beyond.”
Ilyrane nods slowly.
“We exist.”
“The four below exist.”
“Our nature remains divine.”
“Our powers remain.”
Ilyrane looks back to Anchor.
“That is evidence against one very simple explanation.”
A pause.
“That all things divine simply ceased when your world was severed.”
She is careful not to go further.
“It does not prove the gods live.”
Unbroken Dawn's light becomes softer.
“But neither does their silence prove they are dead.”
Ilyrane regards Anchor for several moments after his admission that he feels they remain.
“I cannot confirm your feeling.”
Then, very deliberately:
“But neither can I tell you that it is foolish.”
Unbroken Dawn's rings make one quiet revolution.
“We have called into the silence.”
Its light remains steady.
“And for now, we remain.”
"Thank you both for taking the time and allowing me to ask some of the many questions circling in my mind. I have noticed that since the arcane abilities have been revealed in me, my typical passive and stoic nature has changes as well. There is a... randomness and desire to experience more that was at best a flicker in my past."
"Perhaps Elumis has passed and has not been recovered as should have been, but in my mind there is still Hope. Just meeting you both, the discussions, and something as simple as watching the antics of the children in the city tell me Hope is still there."
"I sincerely hope that you can fully restore the other archons and perhaps one day I can meet those, dare I say, distant created cousins. I have faith they will be restored. 317 Unbroken Dawn maintained fully, and you, Ilyrane have returned to your original purpose, and perhaps found some new purpose as well."
"Whatever you might do to help the island would be greatly appreciated. I think the Council should reveal you to the people. I think that you speaking the absolute truth of the way things stand, may be difficult for some to grasp, but in the end will be better for all."
"Thank you for clarifying your nature and the fact that your powers are within you. Your explanation makes me believe more than ever that it is Andore that has been removed or cut off. I was unwilling or incapable of thinking it through. Those other planes, the gods, dreams all gone at once. Andore is what changed."
Give them both another salute and bow. "If there is anything else before we depart, please let me know."