Prologue

Alrighty. Here is the first draft. It is pretty rough and i still have to hammer out some awkward bits. DO feel free to let me know what you think:

It is dank, dark and musty, just as a prison cell should be. However, it is not infested with vermin and it has a clean stone floor. A surprisingly comfortable cot is pressed up against one brick wall. Apparently the elves value cleanliness and comfort enough to afford them to even the lowliest of the low: convicted criminals. Unfortunately for its occupant, the standard iron bars don't seem to break any rules of decorum and are firmly in place over all possible exits.
Heavy footsteps stop outside the massive wooden door and the light tinkle of metal against metal signals he has a visitor. There really is no other reason for the guard to worry with the keys. He receives his meals on a tray pushed unceremoniously through a slat in the bottom of the door. And although he is allowed outside three times a day for a walk, it is late into the evening hours and he had met the days requisite of exercise by dinner time.
Sure enough, the clattering of a key in the lock is immediately followed by the creaking hinges straining against the weight of possibly the thickest door Daltrath has ever seen. Clearly, the ironwork at the windows is not the only element the dwarves contributed to the prison. No elf in his right mind would hang such a rough hewn hunk of tree and try to pass it off as a door, no matter what he was trying to imprison.
The visitor pushes the door with both hands to open a hole large enough to accommodate his entry, and then forces it shut again once he is through. Shaking his head at the need for such a ridiculous effort, he turns to fix his eyes on the prisoner. The clear blue darkens to gray in sadness as he takes in his brother's dejected expression and hopeless lavender eyes. The once silver hair has turned a lusterless white. Sagging on the cot, Daltrath looks an eternity older.
"Why did you come?" The voice is so flat it doesn't produce an echo in the bare room, as if it doesn't possess the energy required to bounce from wall to wall.

"You will be leaving in the morning." Gravin's voice is much more vibrant. Even though he speaks in a modulated whisper, the words crackle with power and resonate in the small cell.

"Well rid of me, Brother? Are you feeling a twinge of guilt at the relief my departure will bring? Are you here to assuage your conscience?" The sarcasm ebbs as quickly as it came, taking with it the spark which momentarily changed the eyes to quicksilver and leaves them again a simple glassy violet.

The heat is transferred to Gravin's gentle eyes, turning them the violent blue of a flame. Angrily he jams a hand inside his vest and draws out a long cord. Extending his arm, he brings his muscular brown fist to within a mere foot of Daltrath's nose, close enough for the mage to make out the sparse ebony hairs lacing across the back of Gravin's fingers and close enough for him to see the intricate carvings on the amulet that dangles from the cord grasped in the Governor's fist.

"Possibly well rid of your evil tendencies, but never well rid of my brother. And it is to this brother I offer protection in the only way I can."

Daltrath rises from the cot, cupping the proffered ward in his hand as he stands to look his brother in the eyes for possibly the last time. It is no easier to meet that deep blue gaze than it has ever been. Gravin has always been humble and honorable. Those are two qualities Daltrath frequently has had to step over in his magical pursuits, and when he looks into that judging stare, the mage recognizes the burning guilt he accused his brother of feeling. But it is marked on his heart to carry on the upcoming voyage. It will not be staying in this city with his brother and his people.

"Thank you." He closes his long pale fingers around the amulet, squeezing it for a moment before sliding it into a concealed pocket at his waist.
Gravin nods. "I had our man pack the clothes and other personal belongings from your room into trunks which have been sent ahead to the dock. Nobody knows what to do with your workroom. If you need anything specific, I can arrange to have it brought directly here and held until you board. I am sorry, but the laboratory portion is still off limits, even to me. There is talk of burning it when you are gone."

Waving his hand dismissively, Daltrath sinks back down to the cot as if the weight of his life has grown too heavy. "It is inconsequential." He looks at his hands, first the backs then at the empty palms. Even though they tremble, they are nice hands. The fingers have the fine, long musculature of an artist. They are hands dexterous enough to harness the most powerful force in nature, and they are strong enough to bend it to his will. But now they are bitter, lost hands that tremble like an old man's. Now they are empty. "I will never need anything more than the average man again."

"I am not sorry for that."

Daltrath's head whips up and his eyes flash. He opens his mouth in a sneer, fully ready to unleash the sarcasm building behind his teeth. And just as quickly, Gravin's hand comes up in a warding gesture, silently commanding his brother to hold his tongue and let him finish.

"I am not sorry that the power you chose to abuse has been taken from your grasp. You were warned of what could happen. You made the choice, not as an ignorant apprentice, but as the adept master of the craft that you are. Therefore, the result lies fully on your soul, and no where else."

On a sigh, Gravin takes a step which brings him close enough to lay a hand on his brother's weary shoulder. "However, I am sorry for what this loss means to you. And to me." With a gentle squeeze, he drops his arm and turns to leave.

He pulls the door first with one arm, then with two. Sighing and rolling his eyes, he adjusts his body to cantilever the massive weight of the door and is halted by a bark of laughter from the cot.

With a hand pressed to his delicate mouth and his silver eyes twinkling in mirth, Daltrath takes in the absurd spectacle. "Do not tell me that you have grown so rigid you can no longer appreciate a good dose of irony?"

Gravin's mouth splits in a self depreciating smile. Squaring his shoulders, he pounds on the monstrous door and bellows, "Guard! We are done." His smile deepens as the brothers listen to the grunts and groans and eventual creaking that has the door swinging open under the effort of three dwarves.

"That, my dear brother, is irony at its finest." Stepping around the panting dwarves, Gravin slips through the doorway. His voice, which can still be heard from the hall, brings another chuckle from the pale mage. "Now I suppose you will be wanting to pull the door shut. Well, after a short rest, perhaps?"