The wind was cold!
The chill of winter blew within his black robes. He shivered and reached for his goblet. The element was near.
He sipped at a vintage red elvish wine. It swished about upon his tongue like a velvet sugar, and was fire entering his belly. With an evil scowl, he spied his milling minions in the smoke-hazed citadel keep below. They were evidence that he was naught without them, a reminder that he could not do everything alone, one and all powerful.
A chime came from the door, and the mage bade, “enter.”
His apprentice, a waif of a thing with skin too white, and hair too black, swifted the door shut with eyes that shone with triumph.
The wizard’s heart lept into his throat and gooseflesh rendered his skin. His last gulp of wine crashed down hard in to his stomach. It burned. It was glorious.
“Tell me that you have found it!” He gave a hoarse, and excited whispered, his breathing ragged.
As she spoke, a tear fell from his apprentice’s eye,
“I have!”