Elijah had received an invitation from Heiron earlier in the day, asking for him to come to the tower for some tea, which was odd, firstly because his home was in Grënit, which was a very short ride out from Erindiel, and secondly because they'd never had tea in the entire time that they'd known each other.
When Elijah walked into the entrance hall, it seemed more dim, less alive, and less inviting than usual. None of the torches were lit and the hall looked as if it hadn't been dusted since the last time he'd been to visit. He heard a weak, raspy voice call out to him "Elijah my dear friend, I'm over here..." Elijah rushed to his old friend's side. "Odin's eye! What has befallen you Heiron my oldest friend?" "I will not deceive you Elijah, I am very ill. I will die within the next week. Every wizard makes a prophecy before he dies, and I'd have you hear it and record it Elijah, so that it may be remembered." "But what if I can't write it down fast enough? What if I miss words?" "I have faith in you my fr-" Heiron stood bolt upright and began to speak in a strange language. The veins in his head bulged, his eyes rolled back in his head, and his voice sounded as if there were hundreds of others joining with his. Elijah scrambled for parchment and a quill. The words sounded poetic and were of an unknown origin. They are as follows:
"Terva gra, nova gra, novir Grënit y Posnä
Graven flä, matflä rah, vetin Gard et Culpän
Des Gard flä, Des Gard kree, Natsa Gard no-sai ni
Posnägra, terva Kla, Ichen Flamen Krystllä."
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