Raelin frowned at his calculations. Why didn't things add up? Magic HAD to have a logical unit of measure, and yet, it seemed that if that were the case, the Elven city would clearly have used up this quantifiable unit of magic long ago due to its... he paused for the right word... "splendor?" he said aloud.
*UN-NAMED!* perked its ears up at the sudden and rare exclamation of its master, paused, saw that there was little cause for alarm, and returned to the bowl of newt-eyes his master had prepared for him. It wasn't an awesome life, being a rat, but, when compared to the amount of tedious thinking his elven master did, in comparison, the newt-eyes and the occasional flea weren't so bad at all.
The Elven City's spires and towers glistened in the moonlight before him. Splendor was definitely a logical word to use. As was glorious, inspiring, and anything else it said on the bumper stickers of the local patriotic carriages that circled through its streets endlessly touting that they were the best city on the planet.
And, there was no doubt that they were one of the most impressive, certainly. But best? He sighed. Somehow, it seemed unlikely that something like this could exist without an equal, yet opposite counterpart.
Something didn't just come from nothing. At least... he didn't think so.
Raelin looked at the gauges his Gnomish inventor Red, had made for him some decades ago. Perhaps they were meaningless. Perhaps the quicksilver rose upon its own accord and had nothing to do with which way the dials were turned, or which object he placed within its various scales.
But, somehow believing in the crazy old inventor's theories seemed more plausable than the dimwitted, faithful that he seemed to be surrounded with. The King, most of all. "Have faith Raelin. The Gods will show us the way..." he chucked. "Morons!" he snapped, causing *UNNAMED* to duck his ears down in the expectation of a random thunderbolt.