Year 4312, Loirena 12th
Present Day
Like a light at the end of a tunnel, a dying campfire flickers off in the distance through the trees. Casting long, tendril shadows about me, dancing within the faint beams of moonlight piercing through the canopy despite how thick the trees are. The soft hum of insects repeat their songs over and over in a beautiful nighttime orchestra. I listen past this for the important sounds: my ears are tuned for any sign of life at the camp ahead of me. Most wouldn't recognize the sounds drifting upon the perfumed breeze as an important sound–-someone snoring as they sleep in a deep slumber, an opportunity that all my instincts tell me to not waste in the least, not tonight anyway.
Licking my lips, I remove my long, slim dagger from its position within a snug sheath upon my belt. I forego my inward curving sword for something a bit easier to quietly kill someone if need be. I make myself as low as the underbrush and foliage as possible, yet still comfortably able to retreat if need be. My eyes watch the camp for anything noteworthy, yet after a moment, I release the tension in my muscles and take slow, calculated movements forward–-preferring to be slow and unnoticed rather than fast and caught. Despite being more at home in an urban environment, I know it is unusual to see a camp so blatant in the open this deep into the Wyreach.
In all provinces, it is common knowledge that a good portion of the woods contains hideouts for highwaymen, brigands, and other unsavory sorts. Even the elven cities that lie a lot further in have issues with them. Still, no one has hard evidence of where these ne'er-do-wells reside until a trader, a caravan, or a small patrol ends up dead or missing along the border. So, they are allowed to just exist, but I am sure at some point someone will chase them out when it becomes convenient.
Pulling the hood of my old, road-worn leather cloak over my head, happy to hide my features within the shadow it casts, my mind turns to Loira, my patron goddess–-she who oversees murder and revenge - she who I have dedicated myself to. However, tonight I do not plan to enact anything of the sort unless my hand is forced: hoping beyond hope that I can just engage in a bit of thievery and burglary for nostalgia's sake and a few extra sovereigns. I don't always wish to have blood on my hands at the end of the day.
It isn't too long before I make my way to the outskirts of the camp, and my fortune holds as I spot the occupant still sleeping inside a tent made of furs and animal skins. A makeshift linen door flaps in the wind of the night causing it to slap around a bit, becoming the only sound to compete against the snoring and bugs. With no inner thoughts of hesitation, I creep upon the soft, cleared earth into the camp itself. With my well-trained eyes, I take stock of what might be worth pilfering and where the good stuff might be hiding. A longbow leans against an elm tree with a wide box-shaped quiver and a small hatchet still decorated with small specks of old, dried blood on its wooden haft. Bear traps set on the ground are easy to evade with no need or desire to disarm them as the sound would act as an alarm to wake up the occupant in no time. The exact opposite of what I have in mind at this moment.
Smoldering coals within the slowly dying fire pop as the last resin and volatile materials inside the wood is driven out. Soft, gentle snoring turns my attention back to the person within the makeshift abode. While the silvery-white moonlight streams down to truly show off the features of a quite beautiful elven woman. I wonder why she is here alone: her kind rarely travels by themselves, even in cities.
Shrugging a bit, I move a strand of dark brown hair out from in front of my eyes, and I begin my search for anything of value. I find just the essentials of camping and surviving with the most valuable being the rather high-quality food rations, which I have no interest in filching. Some clothes bundled up around what appears to be items of sentimental but not monetary worth. Several simple but masterfully crafted wooden animal statuettes that I shove into my satchel as Elven woodwork can fetch a hefty price for its rarity and beauty.
Exasperated and frustrated I almost give up hope until I trip on what seems to be a tree stump that has been hollowed-out by artificial means. The stump is old, discolored by age and rot, easily missed at this late of an hour, and the dark shade that keeps it from receiving any moonlight makes the inside an easy and logical place to hide important items. Several bugs skitter out of the hole as I tentatively stick my hand within and grab a leather bag that I feel the instant I come across it. Pulling it out reveals an almost ancient-looking leather sack stitched with thick pieces of glossy lacquered animal skin keeping the contents secure inside. Stretch marks mar the sack near the stitching showing the many years of it carrying more than its own fair share of the burden.
Using my blade, I cut the complicated knot keeping the sack closed and pull the flap open, and I begin to rummage through its contents. Sighing to myself as it is mostly a set of emergency spare clothes; some dry food rations; as well as a few odd trinkets that, if nothing else, will at least fetch me but a few sovereigns to make this diversion of mine worth it.
Grabbing a rough linen tunic from within the sack, I lay it open upon the leaf-covered ground for my minor loot stash. Placing the trinkets–-a few Elven carved wooden medallions, some esoteric runes, and the like; a few of the more valuable tools that can fetch a sovereign or two; and, a bit of random odd bits I have acquired within the middle of the shirt. As I reach the bottom of the bag, I feel a soft, supple material, quite a bit like how velvet feels with something hard and spherical inside. Pulling out the faded purple pouch, I find an emblem with a dragon sewn into the front, and then, without spending another thought upon it, drop it on top of the pile. Gathering the edges of the tunic I tie it secure then stuff it into the satchel upon my belt causing it to bulge.
Despite a fleeting thought of looking through the occupant's pockets over for anything valuable, I just don't think the meager earnings would be worth the risk of being caught. So just as slow and methodical as I was when I came into the camp, I now sneak out of it. Even when I am far out of earshot from the campsite, it takes me well over half an hour to feel comfortable enough to stand up and make my way through the thicket at a brisk pace.
Beyond the trees, lie the grasslands of Yoln, with its famous rolling hills and picturesque plains. Also known for is its ample variety of honey and thus mead, and for the Cathedral of Tian in Klieva–-the Capital of Norraldi The capital is one of the most secure and prosperous provinces, or so the local nobles and High King boast in their propaganda through paid off Bards and posters plastered on temples' doors. In this province, even the simplest of crimes are punished with a firm hand in a bid to try and deter people like me. With this in mind, I have decided it is much to my own advantage to play the part of some adventurer who plunges down deep into one of the many ruins of the famed and lost elven kingdom of Elvarton that dot the land between villages, farms, and the larger settlements. Especially in this area which once housed the center of the elven world.
A retinue of the local Baron's men rides by on their horses; their armor jingling with each slow, ponderous trot as their eyes scan around them. Looking for anything out of the ordinary and not a detail misses their gaze, I must be wary. I blend into the shadows within the forest on the boundary of the grasslands, hoping they don't see me. My hood keeps my features from view and hopefully obscures a bit of my silhouette while I keep my body as still as I can, through all the training I have endured, nary a muscle betrays me. They continue their ride down the dirt road and take the fork away from the nearby village. It isn't long before they are out of sight, and I can finally relax. Despite how much of a danger they pose to me, the guardsmen do tend to keep the roads clear around here from the more ruthless highwaymen - one of the reasons I've been in Yoln for as long as I have been as of late.
Pulling my hood down after clearing the forest, I run a hand through my hair with a bit of a fortifying breath. Confident, as I have never had an issue working the rubes here, in believing that I am a fortune hunter, an adventurer looking for fame, sovereigns, and a warm body with a matching bed. Not that there is anyone else truly on this road at this hour of the night. Walking towards the fork where the patrol has long since passed, I am at my most comfortable. A signpost stands before me with three arrow signs–-two of them point at the paths in front of me and the other points to the path towards the way behind me.
"Roveriksted or Norinferd," I repeat to myself.
With a shrug, my desire to have a room for the night as well as just wanting to get away from the forest, has me take the left path toward the closer hamlet of Roveriksted. The distinctive barrel-shaped beehives are surrounded by drones that even from this distance can be seen by the eye in a non-moving swarm. A small orchard lies off behind the apiaries, growing a mixture of apples, cherries, and among the trees are a few grape vines this area is known for mixing into their mead. The large meadery is off the village, a bit separated by a well-used dirt path with wheel ruts. Near a copse of trees behind the large building is a barn that is even bigger, and no doubt filled with casks and barrels full of the semi-sweet, delicious concoctions that accompany the merriment in the inn within the village as well as abroad. Which is why it isn't a surprise that the road from the meadery and barn splits off to the back of the inn, where despite the late hour, candles are lit and hanging within sconces by the front door. Leaving no doubt that fire is roaring inside, and music can be heard from within on the cooling, late summer wind.
My feet quicken their pace, as I get closer to the village being quite grateful that the walk isn't that terribly far. On either side of the road are farming pastures that stretch out as far as the eye can see. Some people are still in the field with makeshift torches as they toil for that extra crop for themselves and their families to have something more than the small handouts the Baron or High King's tributes leave behind. A sad existence in some way, but they are relatively safe thanks to the toll and taxes they pay. The random inebriated townsfolk who pass me by on the way to their homesteads pay no attention to my presence. Just another wanderlust soul searching for ancient ruins; bounty hunting the bandits and highwaymen within Wyreach; or, perhaps the old wizard tower that is barely visible upon the horizon has attracted me to this village. Either way, I don't stand out and that is exactly what makes me so comfortable in this area of Yoln.
The aroma of baked goods and pastries come to my nose as the bakers and their assistants have already been up to work long and hard before the sun gets even close to rising. Adding to this is the stewed meats, and vegetables wafting from the chimney of the inn. The irresistible odor has my stomach growling in protest for its empty state.
The crickets chirping in the distance are interrupted by a man clad in an immaculate leather armor breastplate with iron bands reinforcing the cured material. A red rose crossed with an axe is emblazoned upon the tabard that comes down to his knees. The same symbol is painted on the shield, and it brands him as one of the Baron's men, a man not to be trifled with.
"Stop!" He calls out.
I've already stepped past the man, so I roll my eyes with a sigh, turning around to face him.
"There an issue, my lord?" I inquire.
"No, just haven't seen you around here before," He looks me over with a trained eye. The man is by no means old, but it is evident he has passed his prime–-if only just, with his graying hair.
"We get adventurers, bounty hunters, traders, sellswords, and many of the traveling type. I like to keep a personal log of who comes in and out. So, what's your name and occupation?"
"Eira, an adventurer from Wirhorst."
"Have the look of it," He interrupts.
"Made an incursion into Wyreach. I wanted to see if I could find some bandits to slay for their ears. Need to rest up for a little bit, though. Get some supplies. Maybe hire a sword arm, if one can be found here, and find some treasure. Loot or ears to sell, just need sovereigns. Any way I can get them within the bounds of the High King's laws."
"Figured as much. All the shops are closed but the inn has beds for rent. Good supplies here from traders coming from Klieva. No vagrancy. You pay for a room or you end up sleeping in the dungeon. Got it?"
Nodding, "yes, my lord."
"Be off with you then," He waves dismissively at me.
With a scoff, I continue towards the inn where a wooden sign hangs above the door with a large ogre burnt into the wood. A small gust of wind causes the sign to swing back and forth and the old metal hinges to creak ever so slightly. The stone building is sturdy, well-built, and probably the strongest structure in the town–-outside of the meadery. There is a simple porch with several strong chairs and mead-stained tables covering it. The heavy wooden door scrapes against the floor as I push it open, announcing me to everyone within the inn. Not that the patrons would care that another traveler has joined their revelry.
I am greeted by a rather lively crowd of what appears to be mostly locals drinking and singing songs I can only recall hearing from my childhood, and a few that no child should ever have to hear. Women in modest clothing run back and forth between the tables and the bar; removing mugs and replacing steins filled with the different meads the area produces. The long wooden bar dominates the far side of the building with a wooden spiral staircase positioned to the left of it. Across from the bar is a large stone fireplace, keeping the drafty place tolerably warm and filling the air with the scent of spit-roasted meat and vegetables slathered with strong herbs. An iron cauldron takes up half of the soot-covered inside with a bubbling stew within its cavernous depths.
Taking an unoccupied table close to the fireplace, away from the main crowd, I reach into my coin pouch and pull out five silver sovereigns. Placing them down on the table I look up at the rather young farm girl standing before me. She is dressed in a cotton dress with a couple of off-colored patches sewn in. A smile is on her face as she scoops the coins into her hand.
"Orange Blossom mead, if you got it. Preferably from Wirhorst. A cup of the stew and a piece of hard bread. A bed for the night as well," I am surprised by how tired my voice sounds but I do not show it through my actions or movements.
"Right away," Is her response after scooping up the coins. "All of our rooms are vacant tonight. So, pick one, and enjoy."
"Thank you," I reply.
No one pays me any attention here. Still, it is nice to be unnoticed even if that is how I have spent most of my life. At least I don't have to worry here for my safety.
The drink and food go down quick and I find my way up the stairs to the closest room on the right. I latch it tight just out of a paranoid habit, which I find no issue with as it has helped me stay alive. Sitting upon the hay-filled mattress I let out a sigh and all the tension in my body disappears, in a rare moment. The slight heady feeling from the mead mixes with the rush I get from a successful theft. Not an unpleasant feeling in the slightest.
I remove my gear to just leave myself in my tunic and leather trousers. Leaning back onto the bed with my loot in its neat package upon my stomach, giddy to see my spoils up close and personal. Untying the pack being careful not to spill it; I begin to divide everything into two piles mostly between what can fetch me a good price and what I will take at any offer. Eventually, I get to the velvet wrapped sphere, unwrapping it to spot, a brilliant azure star sapphire, one of the biggest gems I have ever seen in my life. Bringing it up to the small candlelight makes out a glittering star within in almost perfect clarity. A mesmerizing quality that has my eyes fixated upon it for a moment longer than I expected.
"You are going to make me a tidy sum," I say kissing the stone. "There's a perfect place in Wirhorst that I am going to take you to. Then I can store away most of it as planned." Tucking it away back into the sack before stuffing it under my bed.
Sleep used to come to me easy regardless of my actions, even when I was sent on a mission for the Sisters or as the Right Hand of Loira. Usually to eliminate someone or multiple people, sometimes in horrible ways, but I took solace that they were bad, awful, hideously-intentioned people. Then I would lie upon my mattress within the Sanctuary to fall asleep without a care. Now I lie up at night, well into the late hours to the point that the inn goes quiet for the short amount of time it is closed. The silent snoring, or not-so-silent squeaking of a bed a few rooms down, ends up the background music of my night, showing that the rooms didn't end up being vacant after all. Though, it is no matter to me.
Eventually, sleep overcomes me into a restless dream. A dream I have suffered many times yet have no clue what any of it means. An overwhelming sense of dread is always the first thing I can recall. The sound of a great battle surrounding me on all sides, muffled by distance as I am in some type of old storage room. Fighting for my life amidst a group of the High King's guards. A young girl dressed in a simple white dress with her hair in pigtails with green ribbons in each one. Her features oddly like me–-the heart-shaped face, slightly upturned nose–-her mouth opened in a silent scream. Loira kneeling beside me, the face of an elf that I do not recognize beside hers. Whilst it ends like all the others, a brief glimpse of an ethereal figure on top of a high mountain within the clouds.
Then my eyes open to the sparse room I fell asleep in. Birds singing their morning songs through the slightly cracked window and welcome me to a new day, yet the fringes of the dream linger in my mind, at the very edge of my memory causing a dull pain to rise within my forehead. Tired of putting thought into this odd dream I sit up before getting fully out of bed.
I'm out of the inn with a piece of hard bread and a handful of nuts I acquired from the larder. The village is already fully awake and operating despite the early hour, with women carrying loads of clothes, food, mead, or whatever the household needs, little ones at their heels and older children playing in the square. A gentle river of water trickles down into the street from a woman doing her laundry beside a small hut near a smithy, belching out smoke from its chimney.
Walking up towards the same crossroads I was at last night, I take the Norinferd path: hoping to get there by high noon and to Klieva just after dusk. The rolling farmland flattens out into a large treeless expanse of knee-high grass as Wyreach disappears in the distance. Traffic picks up as the sun gets higher in the sky, and at the halfway point of my trip, the rich village appears over a cresting hill. My stomach rumbles, and I lick my lips out of thirst, hoping that the bustling trading post has something cheap to drink and eat, that isn't water and hard tack rations.
Merchants and traders of all types coming from and going to Klieva use this long highway since it connects the capital with the rich farmland of Nostia, its capital Nolas, and the mineral and fur-rich Skjeld to the northeast, which then connects Iona to the northwest. Lots of money flows through this village and the manors surrounding the town agree with my assessment. Small cherry, apple, and pear orchards grow in little, enclosed gardens behind two and three-story houses made of the finest stone and wood. Each one decorated with ornate windows–-some even having stained-glass-–and intricate carvings. Grotesques and gargoyles cover the roofs of a few adding a northern appeal to them.
The town square and its hub of stores, cafes, taverns, and everything a person will need can be seen, even from this distance. Off to the side lies an open-air market with traders haggling over bulk goods. It is easy to spot beginning traders compared to the rich veterans; not to mention the wealthy, looking for a great deal, surrounded by their bodyguards. Exotic animal pelts and ore line stalls across from a merchant with casks of fine Nolasian wine and Wyreach Wildflower Mead that is legendary across the kingdom. Even a dark-skinned Sarosian from the Great Sand Sea with rare spices, magical trinkets, arcane and esoteric tomes and scrolls has him peddling the rare and exotic. Two muscular men stand beside him with great curved swords tucked within their sashes.
I've had a sneaking suspicion that someone has been following me all day. The traveler that's just out of eyesight range has been behind me all day, but I did my best to not show I had any idea that I knew I was being followed. Crowds are easy to disappear within and find a place to lay low from all but the most tenacious of pursuers. Catching glimpses out of the corner of my eye as I surveyed the area around me, stopping when I could to take a breath and a drink from my water skin.
"You could just be paranoid," I say to myself, doubting my own instincts.
The crowd of people not paying attention makes me feel a bit more comfortable and my eyes scan around me for a moment, but I just sigh as several marks come to my eye, but I just have more to concern my mind with than this. Buying a meat dumpling from a merchant nearby has my mouth watering at the prospect of devouring it. I acquire a wineskin from an unsuspecting middle-aged man arguing with some exhausted looking baker's apprentice about a loaf of bread, satisfying my thieving instinct. Finding a nice cool barn near a warehouse with my only company being cattle waiting to be sold, bought, milked, or slaughtered. Flies and other insects buzz around me who want a taste of my meal. Periodically landing upon my arms before I wave them away with disdain.
Even in here the noise from outside is still quite loud and audible: merchants hawking their wares looking for a quick coin, nobles mingling with one another in the open-air cafes and well-to-do spots just a stone's throw away from this dirty, stinky barn. Close enough to hear their inane chatter, yet not able to make out a word of it.
I find myself drifting into a nap as the hot sun above keeps the interior barely tolerable, but it is still enjoyable. Lying upon the itchy hay is both nostalgic and annoying, hearkening to days past. This whole time I've been gone from The Sanctuary and from being the Right Hand–-though Loira can find me whenever she wishes until I die. I was instructed to travel the lands to gain experience - years that I have no regret about serving on my own. I've been both on my guard and completely off of it at the same time. Laying here in the relative open where any one of my numerous enemies, those who I have no doubt made, wanting my death can come and easily find me. My senses are keen–-years of this life and hard training have honed them so. Now, in the prime of my life, I have no fear of what may come upon me, or for me. I've visited the Sanctuary several times and have taken the odd job, but mostly the Listener will have a Sister find me when something important needs to get done. So here, I now rest.
Isn't hubris when most begin their downfall? The thought is a bit disconcerting, and my right-hand stays down to the hilt of the curved sword at my side. Then I hear a very distinctive voice, a voice you hardly ever hear, at least with such outward confidence, in this area that is. The lilting almost musical quality of an elf's voice yet bolder than usual. One you hear from those who are fabled to live in Wyreach; one barely heard in the slums and ghettos of the cities where elves subsist and work underpaid jobs just to buy stale bread and dirty ale.
"Thank you, messire," A title you only hear from the far southeast of the kingdom, near Nolas and that area. "Here is what I promised." Her voice is low, and I am sure she thinks I cannot hear, but I am no common vagabond.
A sudden, short rap upon the large doors opens my eyes and it is time to switch modes. I look for an exit, but unless I can jump twelve feet into the air, I can't make it to the windows. The only other door is missing a handle and the crimson-brown rust on the hinges are a sign of its disuse, which would take far too long to pry open if I ever could.
"I do not wish to fight," The elf calls out as she pushes the door open slowly. I don't wish to provoke her nor the guards into combat. So, despite my hand upon the hilt, I don't immediately draw my blade when she comes into view.
The sun illuminates her tall, lithe figure clad in a chain mail shirt that is obviously made of the silvery-green faenor metal that the elves were known for in ancient stories. Draped over her torso and covered by a short tabard that ends at her hips, lined in a black ornate design that comes off like a twining vine, curling around one another, it is quite striking to behold. Animal hide boots with metal shin-guards and metal toecaps, gauntlets cover her hands and a single spike extends from the top of each one. An aventail made of faenor covers her neck, and it is obvious she is a woman of action. I would find it extremely hard to hurt her let alone kill the woman because of how well armored she is, and I'd bet she can move gracefully within it. A well-used but excellently cared for sword is strapped across her back with a leather harness keeping it in place. Too large and long for anyone to feasibly use with just one hand, and I find it a bit astounding that a woman of her size could even brandish such an implement as it appears to weigh more than she does.
"Well if you didn't want a fight. What do you want?" I scramble to my feet. Running a hand through my hair to not appear as unprepared as I am, perhaps it is even a bit of a comfort to myself,
She takes a step forward, and I instinctively pull out my inward curving sword, just as I do so the familiar tinge of excitement flows within me, the distinctive feeling the weapon causes inside me. The trapped soul within waiting for bloodshed. Stopping she holds up both hands and smiles at me. At this distance, I can see her fine, elven features, and I admit to myself that I have always preferred their looks to humans. A sharp jawline that could almost cut glass if one were to try; thin lips with beads of sweat on the upper ridge, I try not to miss a detail in my assessment of this enemy. Her nose is small and pert with a deep scar crossing over it diagonally continuing onto the cheek towards her jawline. Her almond-shaped green eyes with hints of hazel within, framed by dark brown hair hanging over her eyes slightly and ends just before the base of her neck.
"You took something of mine-"
"I take something from a lot of people. Got to be more specific, elf," I reply.
"Don't call me that," Her lilting tone deepens, leaving the elf's intentions clear. "A gem of some considerable worth. There is a star inside it with unusual clarity."
"Maybe."
"Don't play coy with me. I know you have it."
"What is it to you?" I ask shifting into a defensive posture. Just waiting for her to make a move, yet she stays with her hands up.
"Does it matter? Give it back to me now or I will just take it from you. I have been wronged in this matter. It is my right to do what I must to get it," She drops her arms down. "Don't make me ask again. Give it back to me."
Never one to be reasonable or rational in such situations - I lie, "Fine, fine. I hid it in my boot. Just let me get it."
"It is in your boot?" The elf inquires.
"So? Don't want it now?"
The woman snorts and shoots me a look.
Shrugging, I kneel to pretend to get something out of my boot. Instead, I grab a handful of dirt and hay. Tossing it into her eyes, I dash past her towards the exit, making for the presumed safety of the outside. Though my cloak proves to be my downfall as I feel a strong yank upon it; causing me to fall on my back with a thud and driving the air out of my lungs just as I was about to cross the threshold. In a smooth, well-practiced movement she pulls her sword free, turns around and tries to cleave me in half with it. I quickly roll out of the way of what would have been my untimely death.
"I'm not your common thief, elf," I spit out. "Perhaps you should leave whilst ahead?"
She snarls, "I know who you are, girl."
A hard knee to my stomach is followed by a quick slash of her blade at my chest. Dodging backward gives me just enough space to avoid it, but I don't avoid the shoulder check she hits me with. Falling onto my ass with a thud, my pride is hurt more than anything else.
"Hey! You two!" A guardsman shouts.
"Stop in the name of the Baron and the High King!" Someone else shouts in a deeper voice.
"Dammit!" the elf curses. "I can't let them catch either one of us." She offers me her hand.
"Really? You just wanted me dead and I should trust you?" I scoff.
"You don't need to trust me at all, but you can't be caught by them. Come on, we must go."
Grunting I take a hold of her hand and make my way to my feet. "Well, elf-"
"Saraphyna."
"I am Tegan."
"I know."
"Well, Sara, got a plan?" I ask.
"To not get caught," She walks up to the side of the door.
I stand and watch her as a low, faint humming rises to my ears. The guards enter the immediate area, and an unearthly song overwhelms the vicinity. In a blur, I watch the elf cut the head off the closest man to her, and while doing so her sword cleaves the other guard through his chest. Their dead bodies slump to the ground with almost simultaneous thuds.
"You're impressive," I say.
"Come on, the crowds will thin."
"Obviously," I follow behind the woman not knowing who the hell this elf is. A very interesting character, of course, but just as equal–-if not more so, mysterious, and dangerous.
As quick as a hard wind, she sprints into the busy square heading off in the direction of the Wyreach, past the horizons. My logical, reasonable side tells me to run the other way, to just make it on my own, as I have had to do for my entire life. However, my feet propel me behind her. Keeping up with the woman's pace stride for stride, step for step. My years of training seemingly matched by Sara's obvious years, if not decades or centuries of training
The local patrols would have been informed by the time the sun begins to head down toward the horizon, but we find ourselves hidden inside an old ruin partially buried underground. This place hasn't seen actual people in a long time as the only footprints belong to vermin and the occasional goblin. With most of the tracks coming in from the small opening the two of us squeezed through.
"They avoid the ruins," I say after a moment. "Superstitious lot around here."
"Good," A moment passes as her word hangs in the air. "Now give me my gem."
I didn't really have a choice in the matter. As it was clear she was a superior fighter then I was, at least on this occasion, though I doubt I could ever beat her in a fair fight. With a sigh, I reach into my satchel to pull out the velvet-wrapped stone, offering it outstretched to the determined woman who snatches it out of my hand. I look towards the exit down the hall where fading sunlight beams through illuminating the cracked, moss and ivy-covered stones. Cobwebs and dust seem to coat every surface. Broken pottery litters the floor alongside old animal bones and blades, as the wood has rotted away from the ancient weapons.
"Well," I look back at the elf, saying, "I guess I should be going. Give the guards another trail to follow. Better chances for both of us to make it. My deepest apologies again," Reaching into my satchel I grab the few objects I took from her before offering them back. "You caught me fair and square. Where do we go from here?"
"You are coming with me," She states rather matter-of-fact.
Snorting, I reply, "Aren't you happy? You got everything I took and could humble and humiliate me. Not enough?"
"Events have been set in motion."
"Yeah, sure, usually there are some types of machinations going on."
She looks at me a moment and says, "This involves things greater than ourselves."
"I've dealt with things greater than myself for most of my life: that's nothing new to me. So, if you excuse me, miss. It's been a pleasure," I turn to leave, scoffing to myself again.
A dull pain lands on the back of my head, and as I fall to the ground my world goes to black.