We gather at the edge of the sky island—The skyland, I think with an inappropriate snort. I like that portmanteau, but I shiver as I contemplate the whorls of the tempest. If the shadowbeast wyvern couldn’t escape the funnel’s magical pull, I’m not sure we’ll be able to. Especially not with our flyers reeling from a dose of soulbane.
The skylandCendrion extends a tentative wingtip over the abyss. Though the skyland is somehow protected from the raging elements, his leathery membrane flaps in fierce gusts the moment it stretches beyond the coast. His wing whips sideways in the gale, nearly knocking him off his feet.
“Trapped,” he growls. “We’ll be sitting ducks for Zalor.”
“Maybe we’re starting in the wrong place,” says Valen. He has a gleam in his eye that makes him look both unfocused
