Philemon

After what felt like hours in the air, the frost building up on Philemon's wings became such a burden that he could no longer keep his pace. All but dragged down by the roaring gale, he rode what pockets of undercurrent he could to avoid landing in the frigid water - or worse, falling so steeply he plunged one of the scattered icebergs further into the sea of inscrutable depths. Why his vision led him here, he didn't know. But Philemon wouldn't be deterred from his destiny.

Philemon wheeled one last time, landing in a snowbank beside a stand of stout evergreens. One could say those trees that guided Philemon to where he now lives, the Bufudyne Clan. But without the skill of its resident healers and the prudent yet compassionate judgment of Queen Azra, Philemon wouldn't have lasted in the Frigid Floes.

While on patrol, a Bufudyne guard found him, half-buried in the blizzard's remains and barely conscious. Carried on the back of a being of tremendous strength and endurance, Philemon arrived in the city much too weak to fly, walk or even speak. A young, soft-spoken lass tended to him from the start.

A troubling thing about this mender, he noticed, was that she seemed to drift off into staring spells from time to time. As soon as he could speak again, Philemon asked for books on medicine and anatomy, to find out why these spells affected the girl's daily life. But Melisande didn't have a medical ailment. Rather, they were a manifestation of an ability similar to his own. After a long conversation and at least one plate of Day Lilies, Philemon discovered her visions came far more frequently than his, but they were difficult to control. He didn't want to embarrass or make her feel obligated by saying so, but Philemon vowed to help his new friend achieve her potential.

One day, Philemon decided he would seek audience with Queen Azra and offer his guidance as a diplomatic adviser and a teacher to Melisande and other young dragons with promise of arcane or oracular ability. However intelligent Philemon may be, he never did well speaking to crowds. And Queen Azra's throne room was nothing if not a place for the noble ton to crowd around, whispering this and that in each others' ears. And what of Azra's own impression of him, if he fumbled his words in front of her and so many others? Would his audience with Her Majesty prove disastrous?