Not one of the uninitiated Sourcerers could suspect that the earth beneath their feet hid an entire underground complex taken over by the gladiators, Sourcerers who spent their joyous stay in the prison hidden and fighting each other to death, finding such an end far more preferable to the 'cure' offered by the Magisters. It was rather unclear how the Order let them operate like this for so long undetected, but it was of no concern anymore.
The chambers of the Braccusian ruins saw the biggest audience gathered among the stony derelict in ages, all awaiting the fight on this fine midday. Ecstatic whispers about 'The One' could be heard from both the spectators and the opponents readying themselves for the event. Elane and her comrades gathered in a dark corner of the chamber, near an old, intricate mirror in the shape of two angels holding the pane of glass. The challenged elf was resting while the rest of the company offered words of support or came up with strategies or plans for the nearing battle.
"If you would loan me those fancy hair adornments of yours, I bet no one would spot the difference," Sebile suggested in a half-joking manner.
Elane shook her head before leaning it back against the cold stone. "We already established that this is basically suicide. I have to go."
Vermil, Lohse and Ifan stood a few paces away, talking in hushed voices.
"I have no idea how she fathoms fighting in this state, I'm drained, and I haven't fought as fiercely as her."
"She fell once, I saw Fane hauling her off the battlefield barely conscious." Ifan pointed out.
"Maybe he hid being a skilled healer from us?" Lohse discreetly tilted her head towards the sitting elf. "She doesn't look bad."
"I hope so," Vermil twirled his mustache between his fingers as he had in habit, "I don't want her to die there."
"She could've rejected Griff's demand," Ifan noted grimly, "Not the first time I've seen someone's pride leading to their doom."
Redhead sighed, "We can only hope his pride will make him stay true to his word."
When Sebille, who couldn't get anything else out of Elane, moved away it was Fane's turn to approach the woman.
"You will die, I hope you concede that this is the only possible outcome," the scholar coldly noted.
"Thank you for your words of encouragement, Fane," Elane murmured under her breath, not in the mood to waste energy on needless quarrels. Her body was fine but her mental powers, one she would need the most in the incoming battle, were in short supply.
"I made calculations, you will be alone against four armed enemies with every advantage over you, there is not a scenario where you would win."
The elf's head turned sluggishly to face the scholar. "That is all?"
"I would suggest praying to your gods, but you are 'not very religious' so we need a more ad hoc solution."
"So-"
Fane kneeled next to her and procured a scroll out of his bag. He waved it a few times before her eyes.
"It is crude, but it should suffice. As you know, protection spells do not last forever, open the scroll as soon as you enter the arena."
"I-"
"I believe I do not have to explain how it works. Open the scroll toward yourself, and it will activate." He got up with a loud creak of bones. "I will cast the rest of the aiding spells on you now. I am able to make them less noticeable, should Griff want to make it a problem."
She grabbed the parchment in silence and slid it into her short corset underneath the scavenged nightgown.
Fane wasn't waiting for any verbal approval for casting his spells though. Linen-wrapped fingers touched her forehead and adrenaline rushed through the elf's veins, her mind, however, was clearer than ever, and limbs - unimaginably lighter. This was her cue. She stood up, feeling dizzy from the abundance of spells setting in her body and mind. She felt someone pulling her sword out of the sheath on her back and sliding another one, noticeably better balanced. Someone patted her on the shoulder, securing something to her belt. She moved her hand to touch an immaculate handle. A dagger. Magister dagger.
"From Sebille. Poisoned." Vermil whispered as she absent-mindedly passed him by.
Flames of the torches illuminating the area danced in blurry flickers. Elane's feet followed the path to the left, and down the curved stairs. Her consciousness snapped back to here-and-now only when the creak of metal doors screeched behind her back. She blinked a few times and steadied her as she looked around.
The arena was a vast, mostly open space that sprawled sideways. Elane stood atop the entrance, with three steps down to the solid ground. The apse that marked her spot obscured everything that wasn't in front of her line of sigh. Her opponents, in a straight line across the room, shared a similar starting point. The topography of the area was divided by ruined walls, often two stories high and newer, wooden platforms built around them.
The elf's eyes surveyed the enemy team, she noticed two humans, a dwarf and a dog.
Elane felt somewhat apprehensive towards hurting the animal, but it was not the first of her concerns, the she-dwarf was holding dangerously flickering wands; a mage, primary target.
The Arena's overseer, Thola, an old and blind, but surprisingly agile, she-elf stepped on the balcony hanging to the right of Elane's spot.
"You come here to fight," Thola's voice boomed with a thick elven accent, "You come to prove yourself. You come to be worthy. There can be only One, and you have but one chance…"
"Let me remind you of our rules, newcomer."
Elane glanced up, feeling the sight of the blind elf seeking hers.
"You fight until there is no one else on the battlefield to claim this title."
"So they fight to death…" Vermil affirmed, his worst suspicions proven true.
"Mercy comes off as weakness to those people," Ifan, who was sitting nearby on a ruined stairway, agreed, no more cheerful at the fact.
"Prove you are The One. Prove you are The One worthy of ascension!" Thola cried, and with her roared the horns.
The battle has begun.
The elf was ready to dance between the initial shower of spells, but the human woman proved to be quicker. She unclipped the dog from its short leash, and it sprung forward, the crossbow woman following close behind.
Elane dashed through the ruined archway to her right. Quickly evaluating the area, she noticed the treacherous drop between this side of the arena and the cloisters dug into the rock on the other side of the chasm. This could be advantageous or dooming.
A low growl came right behind, the elf spun around to see the dog ready to pounce on her. She took a step forward but pressed her back to the wall. She slithered toward the animal when her side bumped into something. In the wall's nook stood an old barrel, an ancient liquid swirled inside. Elane pivoted around the container, plucking it out of its spot and then kicking it at the charging animal, hoping to stun it enough to escape. The barrel rolled on the uneven ground, old wood cracking and eventually breaking apart, contents spilling around.
The dog found itself covered from ears to paws in sticky substance. The elf smiled at her luck, then jumped back to run past the ruined wall and parallel to the chasm. She heard the clang of the release mechanism and ducked on instinct. A bolt flew a hair's breadth above her head. The crossbow woman took position on a platform built on the other side of the wall she was just running from.
Elane ditched the idea to run across the open space and rolled behind the nearest pillar supporting an archway leading to a stone terrace hovering over the chasm. The structure barely covered her whole body. Fiery daggers hissed as they flew through the air from the other side of the arena. A warning. She was surrounded. The steady steps donned in plate armor clicked nearer and nearer. Check. Her gaze traveled across the chasm to the carved corridors, filled to the brim with observers. Elane fingered the parchment hidden in her
garments. She crouched, thinking.
Sliding her hand across the blade of her sword she drew a bloody line and dived out of hiding right under the blow of the armored warrior. Before their swords met with a vicious clang, she uttered an ancient curse, pointing at the woman on the platform. A miasma of disease fell upon the human, stealing a breath from her lungs. Swiftly shuffling her feet, Elane danced with the warrior keeping his two-hander locked with hers, forcing him to stand between her and the mage, concealed on a high platform deeper into the chamber. Just in time for two fiery bolts to crash against the man's armor. The two fighters remained entangled in close distance, nullifying the advantage of their long weapons. The man tried to get the elf with a pummel of his sword, but Elane responded by grasping her blade with one hand and slamming the sword down. Having intercepted the attack between the ground and the cross-guard of her own blade, she followed with a kick that sent the man staggering back.
A bolt drew sparks as it struck the floor behind the elf. Fits of cough made it difficult for the woman to aim, but once the warrior was a few paces away from the elf, Elane's body was enveloped in a ball of flames.
The dwarven mage smiled to herself, the elf never had a chance, to begin with. Her smile, however, did not last long. Elane jumped out of the raging magical inferno, her skin dark and flaking, like scorched earth. She lunged forward and cut with a savage, low swing aimed for the armored men's thigh that she knew wasn't covered with plate. The metal dug deep into the flesh, followed by a scream of pain that transformed into a cry of rage, as he answered with a blow of his own. Elane sidestepped and the blade merely scratched her back. The man sent his body in a lunge that was difficult to halt with one lame leg and the man's helmeted head inevitably got in range of the elf's miasmic, glowing fingers. Her fingertips penetrated the openings of the man's helmet in a tried manner, touching the skin underneath and then pushing him away. He staggered, cradling his afflicted face. His blood turned toxic, taint flowing out of his wounds instead of blood. Elane did not stay in one place for too long.
She jumped to the slouched man, intending to slide her blade into between the helmeted head, now hanging low, and the rest of the armor, but it was not the end of the warrior yet. As the noble raised her weapon up for a clean blow, she winced, feeling the wound on her side stretching with her muscles and the warrior's body slammed into hers. She made a few steps backwards before the forced momentum caused her to trip. A gasp filled her lungs as no solid ground intercepted her falling head. They were sprawled on the very edge of the barrierless terrace.
The man was on top of her, grasping his sword by the blade and pushing the sharp edge into the elf's neck. Elane let go of her own sword and began pushing the blade back with her hands. She felt the steel strain the spell protecting her body, pieces of petrified earth falling from her fingers. Flickers of primal, animalistic rage burned in the warrior's eyes. The blade moved back and forth, but this was going nowhere. She knew he'd have to resort to brute stabs if he wanted to finish her. His time was running out, as her strength was not waning. She saw the telltale twitch of the warrior's eyelids, and when the sudden arch of his back happened, she brought her knee up, slamming it into the man's back and undermining his balance. He fell forward, but his hands raised in support found no ground, only the air of the chasm. For one agonizing moment, she thought the man would drag her down with her, but once she felt the weight sliding off completely, followed by a cut-short scream, she breathed in relief. Her face suffered only a few bruises in the ordeal.
"Gedeon, the Tenacious One falls!" Someone yelled from the audience.
Jumping to her feet and picking up her sword, she rushed back to the closest cluster of walls, ducking and jumping over two bolts as she ran. Her hand instinctively checked her updo, ornaments were loose but still in place. Thank gods.
Bolt, bolt, spell. Then…nothing. Why..? The hound…The projectiles always stopped when the dog was nearby. She turned back just in time to intercept the sharp canines meant to bite into her stomach with her forearm. The jaw clasped on her flesh like clamps, but unlike crocodiles, it violently jerked back and forth in the air. If she lets the dog pin her, she'll be an easy target for the crossbow, so she held the vicious creature hanging by her flesh, jittering like rabid. Turning her head, she saw the reflection of light on the bolt's tip, waiting for the perfect shooting conditions.
"Let. go." A growl escaped her throat, doing everything to discourage the dog from further fighting, but the beast was persistent.
A sigh and the elf feigned losing strength, slowly lowering her arm to the ground. The human smiled to herself as she measured the shot, with her pet on the other side of the elf there was no chance for a ricochet if she aimed for the head.
In unison, the woman's finger pressed on the release mechanism and Elane's body jerked, sending the dog flying with a better chunk of her arm still between its teeth. The airborne animal met with the released bolt halfway, followed by a shriek, once the whimpering creature hit the floor.
Elane let out a distorted, growling scream through clenched teeth as the ripped flesh began to burn, but she forced her every emotion shut, trying to ignore pain and rage veiling her mind in red streaks of blind fury.
She never, ever wanted to fight tooth and nail for survival again, she never ever wanted to relive the horrors of elven forests and yet it was happening. She was losing her humanity to overwhelming battle lust. The next minutes were but a red mist in her memory. Screams, wails and shouts pierced her ears. She called upon chains forged from her pain just as the human was loading an explosive arrow into her weapon. Elane raised her blade in defense but the bolt slid over the wrongly tilted edge and bit into her flesh. The projectile almost tore Elane's wounded arm off, giving the archer a taste of her own medicine. A shrill that was lost in measured, brutal kicks to the woman's head. A crack followed by a wet, disgusting sound and she was no more. Then the dwarf, split open by her sword. The elf's left arm was dangling by a string of skin.
Pain, the smell of blood and silence. Pain, blood and silence.
And a deafening cheer of the crowd.
Elane blinked…and realized she had won.
The sword felt so impossibly heavy in her hand, so she released it from her grip. Her wounds, including the nearly hacked away limb, sent nauseating waves of suffering to her brain. Red mist slowly dispersed from her sight. Face burned, muscles ached. So tired, she was so ungodly tired.
Thola emerged upon the main terrace overlooking the battlefield and seized the situation. All of the gladiators were dead, or in a state of agony, rendering them unable to fight any longer.
"Very good! You defy odds and tear the victory from the jaws of defeat…"
The words fell on Elane's deaf ears. Every bit of her being urged her regeneration to hasten, against all common sense, that is.
"...but a fight still awaits, Chosen. A fight with the Arena's former champion-" Thola reached behind her back, clasping an ancient, unusual-looking spear, and jumped down with inhuman ability. "Brace yourself!"
That turn of events had the noble nearly crying. She protested, clutching her shoulder.
"I killed the gladiators as you wanted! That was the deal…!"
"You win indeed, and for this, you deserve a prize."
The iron entrance doors cracked open again and a brawny, blonde woman ran onto the battleground. Her raised hands told Elane to stay at ease, that she was no foe. The elf recognised her as the ghetto's blacksmith… the one Fane had the displeasure to bother some time ago.
She began tinkering with the elf's collar, furtively whispering to the warrior.
"This is not normal, the fight should have ended already…but you are our hope."
After a set of intricate motions the collar opened, and now was grasped tightly by Nebora's grime-covered hands, her eyes glanced at the badly wounded arm.
"Don't die just yet," she pleaded, before hurrying back to the exit.
The blind elf still had her collar on. Elane did not understand.
"Show me your worth as the next Divine! Show me your will to survive!"
Bringing a hand to her side, Elane blinked away the tears that forced their way under her eyelids. The shallow cuts were nearly healed, the deeper ones stopped bleeding. This was unfair, but to her credit, Thola did not 'blindly' rush at her. She was waiting patiently, her upper face covered in some tattered cloth betrayed nothing. Yet the feeling of eyes digging right into the noble's soul did not leave the younger elf for a moment.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Clench your teeth…
Accepting that a limp arm would be more of a hindrance than help, Elane tore it from her body without a warning and tossed it at her opponent. The limb smacked Thola right in the face and, to everyone's surprise, burst like a blood-filled balloon, drenching the elf in scarlet streams.
Elane's party, scattered over the seats and observation points of the auditorium, gasped, winced or looked at each other in terror. Vermil smacked Fane on the shoulder, as the latter was busy noting something down vigorously.
"You'll be able to patch her up…won't you?" the human asked with concern.
"Hm? Ah..yes..yes.." the undead answered without paying much attention to the inquiry.
Vermil breathed out in dubious relief and returned to watching the spectacle unfold.
Getting rid of the dead weight would indeed feel better…if only the pain wasn't so maddening. The blind elf readied her stance, seemingly unbothered, while Elane charged, hoping her diversion dimmed at least one of the elf's keen senses. Being certain Thola could hear her footsteps, she pounced high and sailed airborne through the last few meters, careful not to even breathe. All for the sake of finishing this off with one, powerful overhead swing.
Amazingly, the old elf redirected the incoming blow with her spear in one, fluid motion and ended Elane's soar with a rough landing. The noble's body barely managed to hit the ground and register the pulsating ache from the severed limb when the gladiator was upon her, piercing the floor as Elane was forced to roll away from the maniac. She jolted to her feet with the support of her remaining arm, at the cost of letting go of her weapon. The spear dictated a deadly tempo of their dance, making bending over and scooping the hilt from the floor impossible. Foregoing the retrieval of her sword, she yanked the borrowed dagger free and began circling closer and closer to the gladiator in their waltz. Thola was absurdly responsive, even if Elane quieted down her pants and avoided any battle cry, the spear either locked or thrust her weapon away, spinning around in a dangerous riposte.
In a flash of genius, the noble thought to change her strategy, and leave false cues. She made half-steps and didn't restrain her labored breaths, forcing them even. In what seemed like a successful feint and an opening in the gladiator's impenetrable defenses, she found the blunt end of the spear thrust right into the base of her neck. As the two connected for a split second, Elane's miscalculated swing managed to graze Thola right between her eyebrows, cutting through the piece of cloth that covered her eyes…eyes that were not blind. Eyes that were filled with familiar glowing moon silver. Felled to the floor and staring into those shining orbs, Elane did not see the spear that rose and dived down, directly into her chest. The noble let out a pained cry. The blow would see the doom of an average human, but besides immense pain and uncomfortable weight in her lungs, it meant nothing. But it seemed like Thola was aware of this, because instead of a victorious glare into the victim's dying eyes, she raised the spear again, plunging it mercilessly into Elane's recoiling body. Blood oozed from the elf's injuries, mixing with splatters already covering the floor. The blade savagely dived down until there was nothing but wounds, nothing but blood.
Stop. Stop! STOP!
With a spectral whisper, pale, glowing arms sprouted from the growing puddle of blood around the elves, impaling the gladiator's body on their fleshy palms or skeletal fingertips. Thola gasped, speckles of her own gore dripping from her mouth. She looked down at the Source spell killing her with the same, lunatic look.
The ghastly limbs began retracting back into the ground and Thola's silhouette followed with them. First, she kneeled, seemingly in shock.
"So it is…you," she struggled to speak, uttering nothing more than a faint whisper.
The most sincere of smiles creased the old's elf face as she began falling forward, succumbing to her injuries. "Blessed be…the Moon mother…"
"...Thola, the Thorny One falls!" Cried a different voice from above.
The crowd exploded with primal, inhuman screams of something that should have been cheer, but has been building up on the fundamentals of fear and disgust.
The winner looked at her opponent's mangled body, saw the blood she spilled and yet, in this strange moment , the first thing she thought about was that all this crimson belonged to her. She called to the life-giving liquid in a necromantic incantation and it obeyed her will, filling in her wounds, alleviating pain.
She got up, slowly, then turned to pick up her weapon all while being accompanied with the disturbing howl of the audience. Elane walked to the exit, staggering like a drunk, and trying her best to cover up the part of her arm that rippled in the regenerative process. She was welcomed by aghast, fearful eyes of her companions and a dark spot under a cowl. The onlookers hurried from their spots and fought to get closer to the Champion. For the first time in history the role of the Arena has been fulfilled. Griff was walking towards the group while Elane silently begged them with a pained stare.
"Aye, mate. The girl has won, but she needs rest.." Beast engaged the thug before he could even open his mouth.
"There is a locked chamber…and a key," a voice rasped. A man draped in animal bones and hastily prepared skins emerged from the crowd, holding said treasure. "Thola instructed us to hand it over to the Champion," he pointed to an unlit part of the complex, a carved chasm in the wall to their right.
"Thank you," Fane was quick to snatch the offered key and approach the elf, letting her lean on him for support. "Now scatter around and give the wounded some breathing space, would you?"
He nagged the woman to move with a push.
The door indeed awaited the two in the chasm. Fane slid the key inside the barely visible hole in the solid stone and it began to slide out of the way through some ancient mechanism. The undead plucked the key before the entrance opened fully, and the two entered the strange room. The inert torches lit up with blue flames and the door began sliding back to its original position. Fane suspected it to be a trap, but no, the keyhole was on the inside as well. Elane's shaky steps took her deeper into the tiny vault, and she sprawled herself on something that looked like an altar. A big treasure chest stood nearby, seemingly newer than anything else in the underground.
But the elf was focused on her breath, on managing her pain.
"What you did was impossible," the Eternal started, his voice changed." You should have died from half of those wounds. Even with the necromantic affinity to heal yourself, you should not be standing here alive. This goes against your kind's-"
"So you wanted me to lose?" Her chest heaved, and her midnight black eyes glared into the voids of the scholar's skull underneath the hood.
"I want to know what you are."
The elf uttered a vexed grunt, helplessly looking up at the ceiling. "Your guess is as good-"
"One does not break so many limits of their birthright so easily and unknowingly." The Eternal's tone and posture betrayed that he was unnerved.
The elf's only answer was a shake of her head and closing of her eyelids, separating her from the pestering scholar. A cluster of sounds originated from the skeleton, something like a sigh mixed with hissing and clicking syllables. Elane frowned and fluttered one eyelid up.
"What?"
"I asked if I could see your arm," Fane answered, calling back upon his stoic composure.
The woman freed her hand from holding tight onto her hurting, bleeding stump and straightened the limb. Cold, bony hands on her skin sent shivers down her spine.
The arm, originally severed close to the shoulder, extended to the area right above elbow, and slowly grew further. It seemed as if the end was bleeding, but after closer examination it was actual flesh trickling down the gash, filling it somehow. Fane has seen wounds by now, and had a generic understanding of the mortal anatomy, but no matter at what angle he looked at the stump, he couldn't catch a glimpse of bone, or anything that wasn't just a spot of amorphous gore, really.
"A pact with demons, perhaps?" He mumbled during the examination.
"No, none I know of…"
"Are you in possession of any strange items?"
Elane opened her eyes again just to glare at him some more. "Have you come here with something more than the skin on your back?"
"My skin never made it here in the first place, but I concur."
"Unless you mean…" She pulled a hairpin out of her messy bun, loosening its structure even further, and presented it on an open palm.
"I might have a glance after we leave this dank basement-"
"Are you alright in there?" Vermil's muffled voice called from the other side of the door
The undead glanced back at the regrowing arm before letting go of it. "How much more time does that limb of yours require to be fully healed?"
Elane's hand returned to squishing her shoulder. "An hour? Maybe…" Realizing the human is probably still waiting for any answer, the elf breathed in and yelled. "I am fine! Manage without me for now!"
Vermil walked away in silent understanding.
"Do you know," Fane rested on the lid of the chest. "Those fools think I am some sort of miraculous healer, Source-muted and stranded on some barren isle," the undead seemed amused by the implication.
"I am rather glad they came up with some sort of explanation, I really should have been more careful…"
The woman's lips curved upwards in a wince, being reminded of the nauseating pain of tearing away her own body part.
"But," she tried to shift her attention to something more pleasant. "They are not entirely wrong, are they? You really know a lot, do you not?"
"Do I know a lot? Please, I was controlling the powers of the universe while your people were still... doing whatever it is you used to do…" He tilted his skull and gave her a strange look. "But you probably mean actual knowledge of healing? No, that never belonged to my interests."
"Although…could one of your people know the answer to what is happening to me?"
"They indeed could…Had they been around."
There was a certain sting to Fane's voice but nevertheless, Elane decided to probe as much as she could. It's not like they had anything else to do.
"Do you have any suspicions where they could have gone…?"
"Ah, well that is the curious thing. They are clearly absent from this world, and yet they are everywhere," his posture shifted with a click of bones as he leaned back on his spot. "Every one of your races resembles them in some manner. And the statues you have built to your Gods look remarkably familiar…"
His voice faltered in reluctance.
"...Indeed, ones you call Seven Gods share an uncanny similarity with ones I knew as Lords. Lords Eternal."
Elane's expression turned to one of great shock, "Y-you knew them, the Gods?"
"Back in the days where my body was not confined to a tomb, indeed I did. So perhaps my people have ascended to some new realm. Or perhaps your Gods are merely a folk memory."
The reveal took some time to sink in into the elf's understanding. The Seven have been a thing for…how long now? Elane scoured her memory for dates and history lessons. What was the earliest? Kingdom of Ferol…Sigurd's Empire. How many years…? Seven thousand? Needless to say the elf was struck dumbfounded, with her eyes blindly staring at the opposite wall while her brain tried to grasp the implications of Fane's age. She let go of this notion eventually, coming to comical numbers.
"I…will not lie," she breathed. "You had my curiosity but now you have my attention."
"What am I to understand by that?"
"That I will help you to go wherever you need to go and find your people."
"I might… accept this generous offer of yours, considering my last visit to Reaper's Coast was far from successful. You seem to possess the ability to make people listen to you, that might come in handy."
Elane smirked, if anything, her 'ability' was but a mask she only knew how to don in specific situations, a mimicry of what she saw her parents do. Her parents, home…
"What was your plan originally then?" The undead continued. "Given that our escape ends with a success rather than us being stranded in the middle of Void-infested sea."
The elf snapped out of her wishful daydreams. "Well, I would hop on the first wain I see and head back home…"
"Is someone waiting for you there? A family?"
A question born out of such a familiarity so soon could be seen as rude, Elane involuntarily noticed, but savoir-vivre be damned for once. A feeling of homesickness grew inside the woman since the first step in the tenebrium-lined cart and now, it seems, began bubbling out of control.
"My family has been dead for a while," her shoulders raised in a shrug. "But I was taken away from people dear to me, and even more people who were dependent on me. Do you have family-" she blurted before her brain could rethink the pleasantries.
"I di-... I do but they came rather low in my life, alas. My wife and daughter always had to compete with my work for my attention. And my work was always stiff competition-" the scholar reminisced grimly, a deep feeling of regret clung to his words like a barnacle. "They were often neglected, I wonder how many more years they spent before-" regret turned to disdain towards himself. "Well, whatever happened happened."
"You take it…surprisingly well, " the elf spoke quietly, shifting in unease.
Really, if she were to put herself in the scholar's shoes, she would probably be running around like a mentally disturbed, turning Rivellon upside-down.
"I will find them," Eternal's tone left little doubt to his determination, no matter how hopeless his cause seemed.
Just how exactly does a civilisation disappear overnight? Elane shook her head in an understanding nod, before tilting it in the direction of the chest that Fane was sitting on.
"Is there actually anything in there?" She asked, mostly to diffuse the tense atmosphere.
"Good question…" he looked down as if he just realized what his seat was.
The undead slid off the semi-cylinder lid and, noticing it had no lock, raised it open. The wooden container was by no means filled to the brim, but few interesting items have been carefully placed on the bottom. A scroll of unexpected quality, sealed with red wax and a carefully pressed stamp, with a symbol widely associated with geomancy. Besides that, a pendant, buzzling with magic wrapped in some decaying linen, and, probably most intriguing piece of treasure, a metal plated armor. Fane raised the garment by its shoulder to inspect it better. It was a long loose tunic with plates adorned in decorated scale patterns covering the vital areas. For what he knew about human, elven and dwarven attire, this one was unusual, and hardly fit into anything he recognized.
"Pretty thing, seems like your fit." Elane commented as Fane was dangling the armor left and right trying to get a better glimpse.
"There might be more to it. There is an aura of magic about it but with that-" he tugged at the Source collar still hovering around his neck, "- I cannot really tell…" After a heavy sigh he added, "Well, I guess anything is better than the ripped rag you are wearing…"
Elane looked down…with terror. Her stolen tunic was indeed ripped to shreds, never mind the lacking sleeve, there were incisions on her chest and stomach area, white skin peeking through dirty cloth. At least bloodstains were not something she had to worry about, her body usually reabsorbed every drop she spilled. A blurry object materialized at the corners of her vision and her healthy hand twitched to catch the tunic flung at her.
"Changing will be difficult with one hand…" the elf murmured to herself.
"Wait for the other to regenerate. I am leaving…" the scholar announced, making for the door.
"...Right."
With a twist of the key in the mechanism, the door once again began opening. Fane plucked the item out of its lock and let it drop to the ground behind him and he stepped through the portal. The door returned to its position with a thump.