CHAPTER 55: FELBORIS DAWNSTRIDER
It came as a surprise to Charles when Sean's father expressed his intention to meet him. Charles had initially planned to hand over the books and depart, but with the invitation extended, he had little choice but to follow the steward, Luke, into the grand mansion.
While Charles had expected opulence befitting the Dawnstrider family, being members of the Silvermoon Council, he discovered the reality was somewhat different upon entering the premises. Although more luxurious than the average household, the overall atmosphere was not as overwhelming as he had imagined.
Perhaps it was the orientation of the mansion, but the morning sunlight streaming in cast a refreshing and warm ambiance throughout. However, there was one aspect that Charles found hard to adjust to—the labyrinthine design of these large estates.
Despite being accompanied by Luke, Charles had lost all sense of direction in the maze-like passages, not due to his own lack of directional sense, but simply due to the complexity of the mansion's design.
Fortunately, he remembered that he had arrived on the second floor as he followed Luke, and he found himself before a grand wooden door. "The master has been expecting Mr. Charles Seron," Luke announced with a respectful nod, prompting Charles to step inside.
"Lord Felboris Dawnstrider is ready to receive you."
The room's interior echoed with a faint and weary voice, "Please, bring him in."
Charles had already heard about Felboris Dawnstrider through the words of Sean and the Sun King, providing him with some insights into this individual. A member of the Silvermoon Council, Felboris had deviated from the conventional path to become a staunch supporter of the Sun King, Anasterian, who had saved his life on two occasions. A skilled arcane practitioner, Felboris had demonstrated exceptional valor during the Troll Wars, earning both disdain and admiration from his peers, who derogatorily referred to him as an atypical mage or hailed him as a trailblazer of a new paradigm. In simpler terms, Felboris was a melee mage, one who preferred close combat rather than hiding behind, casting potent spells from a distance.
"My father's fondness for one combination, in particular, was the Grease Spell paired with Dragon's Breath," Sean explained. "It's quite the spectacle. He would unleash a fiery breath, turning the Grease Spell into a raging inferno, incinerating enemies with a remarkable and, frankly, painful intensity."
The Grease Spell originally aimed to make foes slip and fall, but Felboris had ingeniously modified it to be highly flammable while maintaining its slippery effect. Once it clung to a target, it was nearly impossible to extinguish, and the victims endured excruciating torment.
Other unconventional tactics included enhancing the Mage Light spell into the Blinding Light, which could temporarily blind Trolls, and augmenting the Mage Hand with increased strength, enabling subtle interference during combat to disrupt the enemy's rhythm and achieve a swift kill.
These unorthodox methods had sparked controversy at the time. Traditional arcane practitioners vehemently opposed such innovations, viewing them as an affront to the dignity of mages. However, those embracing the avant-garde saw these ideas as the future of the discipline, leading to enthusiastic emulation.
Regrettably, the archaic Quel'Thalas society had quashed this new trend. After enduring multiple injuries during the Troll Wars, Felboris became bedridden, and his unconventional techniques came under heavy criticism. These factors contributed to the erosion of this unique style in Quel'Thalas. Even Sean, Felboris's son, had not entirely embraced his father's legacy, despite his impressive combat skills demonstrated in the ranks of the Swift Hawkstriders.
As a ranger, Charles could not afford to divert too much of his focus on mastering large, yet time-consuming, arcane spells, which rarely presented opportunities for practical application in combat. However, the combination of small spells had broadened his horizons and provided fresh insights.
Considering Sean's descriptions, Felboris's combat style had strayed from the conventional image of mages as distant artillery units and resembled a frontline lancer.
"Perhaps this is an opportunity to inquire," Charles thought to himself.
With the heavy closing of the door, the main bedroom became an intimate space for the two occupants. Recognizing Charles's gaze, Felboris didn't seem to mind his frail appearance and smiled. His face was pale, marked by sunken eyes, and his body was emaciated, but the distinct arcane glow in his eyes, typical of high elves, revealed his unyielding spirit in the face of illness.
"You must be Charles Seron, as mentioned by Sean. Please, take a seat. I apologize for receiving you in this manner, lying in bed, but I have long been curious to see the young prodigy my wayward son has been raving about."
Smiling, Felboris extended a hand in greeting. "Though it might seem peculiar for a noble such as myself to say this, you can address me simply as 'Uncle.' I've never been fond of the formalities expected of nobility."