"A toast!", announced Lord Sergonar, gray haired and standing tall in aged ceremonial armor, raising a golden goblet to the humble gargoyle mystic. "Although we have each spent many years in different lands, there is a bond that unites the members of this table, a common history that crosses worlds. Although we all strive to honor our respective kingdoms, there is kinship amongst us that transcends borders and languages. It would honor us if you would accept a chair at this table, as a member of the high council of our guild." Sacku Vasarb bowed deeply, his wings folded respectfully behind his back, his presence much smaller than the bulk of his gargish strength. "The honor is mine to accept membership to your clan and call you broodling. May the peace that has grown from our meeting and our adventures be a model for the peace which may grow between our noble homelands." And with that, the guild welcomed it's 25th member and 7th member of the high council. Lord Earthwalker continued working on a cake at the small counter while Lord Firewalker withdrew to check the architectural plans of the new guild library rising from the woods at the edge of the Royal City, a fusing of gargish stone and elvish wood draped in a tangle of rapidly growing seedlings. He frowned when questioned by a guildmate why it was being called a "library" when there hardly and books to be seen in public. Lord Maplestone and several others tended to the food and bedding needs of nearby refugees rescued from the void-damages villages at the edges of the world, unpacking supplies brought over from the bountiful fields of Britain while Lord Seawalker put down his fishbowl to wrestle with an unexpectedly brightly colored chicken lizard fresh out of the incubator. Meanwhile, Lord Salthook in his graying beard and matching toolbelt, poured over the curious residues and essences with his former elven apprentices, struggling to understand the power of the reagents Sacku Vasarb could so effortlessly use to imbue otherwise mundane items with such extraordinary powers. Not as clumsy or random as a runic, it was an elegant and civilized craft. "I feel obsolete" muttered Lord Salthook under his breath and Lord Woodwalker poured over ancient tomes and reagents, trying to analyze the emanations of a void core. Suddenly a vial of crystal dust recovered from the site of the destruction of the shadowlords' gem of immortality tipped over and spilled on the void-soaked blob. There was a surge of energy and entire room quivered as wizards were tossed wildly in all directions. Reflexively, Lord Salthook stepped into the maelstrom to utter a quick incantation to dispel the magic. But as he did, the wave passed over him and for a moment it was if the world shattered around him. He had felt the sensation briefly once before, long ago when participating in a trick-or-treat ritual a strange insane twin of himself had somehow been summoned into the world, an echo of the magic the shadowlords had used to pull forth manifestations of themselves. But this was far more intense. He looked down to see his own arm seem to flicker as he moved it, shifting color, shape and texture randomly. Tingles ran down his spine and across his face. He breathed deeply, closed his eyes and tried to hold his position until the sensation passed. Then he relaxed and opened his eyes again. He looked down to see his hand was blue and long fingers tipped in claws. His torn cloths seemed too small and his hat was laying on the floor. As he reached down to pick it up, he felt his wings spread. He had wings. For a moment, there was a rush of adrenaline, a pounding of his heart as if something was terribly wrong, but then it faded away. He had wings and now it felt as natural to move them as to move his hands or feet, as if he had done it every day of his entire life. "I am fine", he assured his friends as they struggled to their feet. The words were deep and melodic from the depths of his throat, although for a moment the grammar seemed awkward. As his hand touched the surface of the table, he felt an acute sensitivity to the grain, to the cut of the corners, to the texture of the varnish. Woodwalker approached his old friend cautiously. "Salthook?"