Private Tales Relentless

[Zaire]

[art cred]

Lately, it seemed Vel Anir was trying to show off how there was no issues between the Kingdom and the Falwood. Now, anyone with more than three brain cells knew better. From the Brotherhood to the skirmishes along the border, it seemed Vel Anir and Falwood were still giving one another a hard time, but doing so in a far more diplomatic manner than before. It was too much for Zaire to keep up with, he had never really been that interested in politics in the first place. After the Revolution, things only seemed to get more complicated instead of easier to understand.

Some elves were good, some elves weren’t, some elves could come to the Elven quarter in Vel Anir and some couldn’t. And how could you tell the good elves from the bad elves? Zaire couldn’t, and he was certain the rest of the Anirian population couldn’t either.

Although it seemed now he had to go and help some good elves with their goblin problem. Zaire would have felt some sort of excitement, his last couple of missions had been lame. Guarding a noble house, going with a noble to a house— all basic missions for a initiate who would graduate as a fourth level and never move up to third. He was only good for making a army better. Or making a good dreadlord better.

So when he had come into the room and saw Houri Luana already standing there, Zaire Glaive understood what his purpose would be for the mission: amp Houri up and let her deal with the goblins. If their mission went well then Vel Anir would have some brownie points with the Elven population on the border or in the Elven quarter. Strangely enough, even if Zaire’s personal magic was to increase and perfect one’s performance, currently he was struggling with some major performance anxiety.

He wanted to get high, especially as they could see the city of Amon Lanc getting closer and closer. He was able to make out individual structures that sat on top the grassy hills and it wouldn’t be much longer until he could make out the shape of elves and people. Zaire’s hand went to were he currently had a couple of dried herbs that were just waiting to get inhaled by him, but… Houri was here. Right here next to him.

Maz was his best friend and knew very well of Zaire’s slight dependence on herbs to be more personal, but did Houri? If she did, Zaire didn’t know, and if she didn’t, then he wanted to keep it that way. Once he graduated he’d stop, so he didn’t quite see it as lying, but…. Zaire cleared his throat. He had been very quiet on this journey, even more than usual. Even when Houri had spoken and tried to make conversation, he had just gotten tongue-tied and ended up sounding like a idiot or a asshole or both.

“We’re almost there.” His voice was hoarse and he cleared his throat again. “So. Uh. Yeah.” He was a real poet, wasn’t he?

Houri

 

[Houri]

​

The words were like a ear splintering scream except no amount of pressing her hands over her ears would quieten these voices. They echoed around her mind and seemed only to infect one another, wind them up and set them off screaming the same three words. Her hands felt slick with sweat and her heart like a trapped bird making it hard to breathe. What Houri thought was happening to her was some kind of mental break. The voices she could deal with, accept even, but this feeling? This feeling was a slow poison.

Nobody, of course, had explained to the young Luana that what she was experiencing was a natural part of being a teenager and that was, of course, because the Academy liked to pretend their walking weapons were not normal teenagers.

The trip had been torture.

Every attempt at conversation - all fifteen conversation starters Proctor Louve had given her - had failed at one word answers or grunts. They had always worked before which meant the only conclusion Houri had was that Zaire just simply didn't like her. In the old Academy she wouldn't have cared. She would have probably enjoyed the hatred and used it to serve her own purposes, but now hatred was wrong and to have someone to hate you was to fail. Houri couldn't fail. The only place she would be safe was here. As a Dreadlord.

She had to make Zaire like her.

But how?

"Oh," she blinked, coming out of her deep conversation with the voices who were offering up their own suggestions on how best to make a friend, and glanced up at the road ahead. "I suppose our contact will be nearby then," the idea of meeting an elf on friendly times was another discomfort.

 

[Zaire]

“Yeah,” Zaire said. He didn’t look at Houri, just kept looking at the growing sight of Amon Lanc. “We’re actually early.” Which was a surprise. It was morning, maybe two hours after sunrise. Zaire hadn’t been able to sleep any of the nights they had traveled, or at least not well. It was good when he took the first watch shift, but then when it was his turn to sleep he had instead stayed up or allowed him a light nap.

He was nervous that while he slept, he’d do something embarrassing. Like talk in his sleep or snore or have a nightmare or pass gas.

The only good thing about being unable to sleep is that while the sun was still rising, they were all packed up and ready to continue their journey.

“I’m pretty sure the guy in charge is a elf.” Zaire said suddenly. “I don’t even know how to start pronouncing his name. I know Proctor Pitlor said it, but I’ve already forgotten.” As if figuring out how to say this elf’s name was the most important thing in the world, the young initiate began to search himself and the only rucksack on his horse for the parchment that held their mission details.

“Shit— I mean, crap, I don’t think I have it. Do you?”

Houri

 

[Houri]

Houri glanced at him out of the corner of her eye as they rode.

Did he not sleep again?

He doesn't trust us enough to close his eyes.

He looks exhausted. It's your fault he's not sleeping.

No wonder he hates you. He's carrying your dead weight. Doing all the watches--

"Have what?" Houri said over the noises in her head. She hadn't been paying full attention to what he'd been saying and she cursed herself for it now.

The mission statement, Sura whispered so faintly Houri almost missed it. Feeling her cheeks beginning to heat a little she opened one of her own saddle bags and pulled out the rolled up parchment then handed it over to him. Sura filled in the rest of what she missed allowing her to continue.

"Maybe he'll be early too. Elves tend to not have the same concept of time as us."

 

[Zaire]

He leaned over, grabbing the rolled up parchment from Houri. He unrolled it, scanning over the contents.

“Maybe. I dunno, when I was in Alliria, it was like… everyone ran fifteen to thirty minutes late and that was expected.” Was it Alliria? Elbion? Maybe that one mission he had back in the Empire? “I think it’s like a Anirian thing to be early. Yanno, like our moms probably told us, ‘on time is ten minutes late.’” Zaire’s horse whinnied in what was hopefully agreement.

“Besides, if I was an elf and could live for centuries, would I take being on time seriously? Probably not, life’s too long to be on time for everything.” Zaire took a deep breath, mumbling the same word over and over. “Rhorothomir, Rhorothomir, Rhorothomir. Shit, that’s a tongue twister.” Too late, he realized his curse. The top of his ears grew hot and Zaire cleared his throat. A hand went to scratch the shaved spot directly behind his ear.

One didn’t just cuss in front of a Luana lady, especially not one that invaded Zaire’s dreams every night.

“Excuse my Elbionese.” He said, trying to laugh but instead coughing. He couldn’t play anything off as if he was cool, could he? First he had to ramble about time and what he would do as a elf, then he made a lame joke the fifth years would be making.

“If we’re early and Rhorothomir isn’t there waiting for us, we could uh, maybe, I mean, if you’re down and if not it’s okay we don’t gotta, but we could grab something to eat. Like. A snack, or something. But if you don’t wanna it’s cool, we could just sight-see or… do both….?” If she said no, Zaire could just pretend it was because she hadn’t heard his mumbling, and therefore, it wasn’t quite like rejection.

Houri

 

[Houri]

COULD THE BOY JUST MAKE UP HIS MIND! Boomed Ahdvi. The force of thunder echoing inside her mind was enough to make her wince and she could feel the other voices flinch too.

Stop being so dramatic, he's trying not to hurt our feelings. Clearly!

Yes, he's being polite!

"Of course we can grab food if you're hungry," Houri frowned, confused as to why he seemed to suddenly be unsure of himself. He'd radiated nothing but confidence until now with his stoic and quiet calm. Shit. She should have cooked! That's why. He was embarrassed for her. "I... I'm quite hungry too. I should have thought about breakfast sooner," her cheeks heated. Food was not usually something she forgot about once it was in front of her, but normal mealtimes were still a great challenge for her. In the Asylum for the last year eating had been determined by when the rat fell into her trap.

 

[Zaire]

Score. Zaire perked up, stopping his horrible posture of slouching while on horseback. He didn’t look over at Houri, it would have been too obvious if he had, but the corners of his mouth twitched up into a barely there smile. Maybe she had only agreed because she was hungry, but it was still something.

When they had been in Dornoch, Zaire had the misfortune in not being in her group until hours later. Of course, splitting up had been his idea, on top of the idea that he’d lead a group which meant that he had been with Vasha and Delilah. It turned out he was a shitty leader, and had joined back with Houri, Lumen and Marcie.

The smile turned back into a frown and Zaire began to slouch once again. This time, there was no Vasha, Delilah, Lumen or Marcie. It was just him and Houri. He couldn’t fuck up like he did back in Dornoch. He couldn’t risk bringing harm to Houri— although a part of him felt like Houri, even more than himself, could handle whatever trouble came her way.

“Yeah, breakfast.” Zaire said, hoping it came off unbothered and cool. Like the way Maz spoke naturally. Or wait, Maz was her brother. Maybe he shouldn’t speak like him, it would be too obvious he was trying too hard to be cool. And the point of being cool wasn’t trying hard, wasn’t it? “Sorry I’m not the best cook. I’m a lot better at growing…” he trailed off. Damnit, not the best joke to be making. “Uh, growing… vegetables. And mushrooms.” He kept his face serious, did his best to not look guilty and admitting to keeping Chasmine’s gardens alive.

“My brother was— is— the better cook.” He added, hoping it would cover up his slip up.

Houri

 

[Houri]

See! We should have offered to cook.

But... we can't cook.

We can cook rat!

I don't think charring a rodent with lightning counts as cooking.

Houri grimaced. Though, if she could have cooked anywhere, it would have been over a fire out in the middle of nowhere like this. Simple food, that was all she was good at.

That's not true, you made honeycakes...

"Only after Jiya showed me," she muttered beneath her breath and the voices quietened. Maybe next time she was home she could ask Jiya for some other recipes; her older sister took any opportunity she could to spend time with her and Houri often felt guilty she didn't feel the same desire.

"Your brother?" Houri perked up and glanced across. There was very little she knew about Zaire. "Do you have many siblings?"

 

[Zaire]

Oh, that was right. Houri never got to meet Dak. He had gone missing before she came to the Academy— or came back? Zaire was rather confused over the whole timeline, and if he asked Maz about it, well, he never really got a clear answer. Something had happened and they had been separated, but Zaire wasn’t sure if that was while they were in the Academy or before.

Besides, not many spent so much time outside of the Academy like Dakarai and Zaire. They were late-bloomers in that regard. Maybe it was why they were far less unhinged compared to some of the others in their class. Although Dakarai had seemed to fit in just fine. And as long as Zaire had Dakarai, everything was cool.

“Just my twin.” Zaire answered. “He’s on a mission right now.” A mission that should have taken weeks but had now stretched into months. “I wouldn’t have minded more siblings but my mom was a paladin. She was busy.” And his father had been a commander in the guard. Zaire suspected neither parent had time to have one child, much less twins. “Spent a lot of time with my grandparents and cousins. My family is kinda small.” He answered.

He looked over at Houri, seeing that she didn’t look bored. But family was a hard topic to talk about, especially with Dakarai still missing. But he wanted to keep the conversation, wanted to talk to Houri as much as he possibly could so when they headed back to the Academy, maybe things would be different than they when they had started.

What would Dak do?

“Not a lot of us get to be with our siblings in the Academy. You and Maz seem really close. You’re… older than him?” Zaire knew the answer and he felt his ears grow red, but it was a safe question, and one to hopefully keep the conversation going.

Houri

 

[Houri]

Twins? Why had Houri not come across this... Drak then? It was true that the numbers in this particular year group were far larger than the number she was used to expecting in classes, but she had still crossed past with most of the year group even if it was in passing. Missions didn't take that long, not the kind they sent initiates on anyway. She tried to read the look on Zaire's face to see whether he was concerned but he seemed stoic; Houri really wished she could be so calm and collected as him. Her emotions felt like a constant untamed herd of wild horses that she couldn't break.

The rest of the information she tucked away with great care.

"18 months older," she nodded. It was not the first time someone had asked her; a mysterious sister who had vanished and suddenly returned raised a lot of questions. Maz didn't seem to like answering them but Houri saw no shame in being upfront. "I missed a lot of the more... scholarly bits of education whilst I was away, but the Proctors believed I could catch up in a year. I'm sure my brother complains endlessly about me sharing classes with him," her lips curved at the corner at the joke; Maz would never complain. Houri was strong but Maz would never be the one standing in the shadows in their family.

"I have six siblings, though I suppose only four are still alive now," she mused with a shrug.

 

[Zaire]

“Don’t worry. You didn’t miss much.” Zaire said, a hint of humor in his tone. It wasn’t the first time a initiate that was older than the rest of the class was only there because the Academy felt the need to impart at least a little bit of knowledge before sending them off to graduate. He had heard plenty of times when a initiate was essentially held back a year and it was only ever because they had missed class time.

Like Pirian, Houri was in the same boat. Although unlike Kristen, Houri seemed much more like a dreadlord. Where was it had she gone to? Maybe she had been on a mission that turned out to be longer than it needed just like his brother?

“I’m sorry. About your siblings being… well….” Zaire knew back in the Academy, apologizing or showing grievances was frowned upon. “You know. Gone.” Houri didn’t seem bothered by it but that was to be expected right? They were initiates, soon to be dreadlords. This is how you were supposed to act. But Zaire could care less what was expected with the Academy miles away.

Family was important. His parents had instilled that belief in him and the Academy would never be able to take that away.

“I didn’t know. I don’t think Maz even told me his family had died.” Or Maz had told him and Zaire was just stoned out of his mind.

Houri

 

[Houri]

"My brother is a very private soul," Houri said solemnly and a small frown puckered her brow. It was a trait that worried her. Maz was, in many ways, far older than his years. Seeing him again after all these years had felt in a way as though she were meeting one of her older brothers, not the younger. The Academy was right to instil in the initiates the art of being serious; being silly seemed to be what got this particular class into so much trouble. But Houri worried her brother teetered on that fine balancing point and that if he did not talk more about the deeper, more personal matters with someone they would become infectious sores. She blamed herself, of course. Before she had been there to be that talking point and now they were practically strangers.

"He probably thought you had heard, it was in the press for weeks," she soothed lest Zaire feel her brother had somehow snubbed him.

Wait, you're making it sound like he should have known.

"Not that I mean you should have known, I mean..."

Stop stuttering!

"I mean, I didn't know for a year, so he could hardly expect you to..."

Embarrassing.

"Not that he would..."

Just shut your mouth child.

Houri grimaced.

 

[Zaire]

He looked over at Houri, watching her as she spoke. Or rather, to begin talking and then stop before saying something else. Was she trying to cover for Maz? He made a face, and he knew he made a face, but he hoped that it was gone before she could notice it. She didn’t need to cover for him. Sure, they were siblings, but that didn’t mean they had to see eye to eye on everything.

“If Maz didn’t tell me then there was a reason for it. Sometimes you just don’t wanna talk about things.” It didn’t hurt Zaire’s feelings, or made him feel any sort of shame for not knowing. Lots of people died. He just hadn’t known that Maz had lost family. It wasn’t like he had gone to Maz and spoken about Darakai. But, he supposed that was because Darakai was still alive, right? It would be weird to speak about him as if he were truly gone when he was just missing.

It was supposed to be a easy mission, but something could’ve happened. His brother would return.

“But you told me. So I think sympathies are in order. Right?”

Houri

 

[Houri]

"Why?" Houri asked bluntly and looked at her companion with a blank expression. "They died in the only honourable way; serving Vel Anir."

Of course Houri had been upset to find out she had lost her brother and father in the revolution, and apparently another the year before, but the Academy had taught her to channel that pain into something meaningful. Something useful. Sympathies were frivolous, pointless things for those too weak to marshal their own minds.

"I can pass them onto my mother, she cares for such things."

 

[Zaire]

There was silence for many seconds. Zaire stiffened, sitting up straight and his shoulders going rigid as if ice water had been poured down his back. He glanced at Houri, wary like a animal trying to decide if the human holding out their hand to them could be trusted.

“You don’t need to die to have honor, Houri.” He said softly, but seemed to think better on it. “But I know their service is met with gratitude and appreciation.” His brother wouldn’t have backpedaled the way Zaire had, but his brother could handle a fight.

Zaire had seen plenty of fights break out after the Revolution because of differing opinions. Zaire wasn’t a good fighter, he was just good at making the good fighters better. So he would bite his tongue, store this in the back of his mind, and make sure to tiptoe around this if it ever came up.

He cleared his throat, thankful that now they seemed to finally approaching the gates. He could make them out now without using his magic to enhance his vision, and even see the first little speck of two guards standing outside of the gates.

It was time to change the subject.

“You ever eat elf food before?”

Houri

 

[Houri]

Houri didn't care about the look in his eyes; she knew she was in the right. Her brother and father were loyal to Vel Anir and had died for it. Or... they were loyal to the Aniria that existed today. That was... Good. Proctor Amor had said so.

"A few times, when I was younger," Houri flexed her hands on the reins where she had tightened them almost an hour ago when their conversation had first started. The City was right ahead, their mission could soon begin. "My mother never understood the aversion and where she is from, elven food is as common as human."

It was the reason why Luana had supported the elven quarter being made.

 

[Zaire]

“Where is your mother from?” Zaire asked. It seemed this was a better topic. He relaxed once again, his face an unbothered mask. There was, however, a more important question he wanted to ask. “Is it true that Elves don’t eat any meat at all? Not that I think you need to have meat with every meal, but…” how to put it? Meat was more filling? It tasted good with mashed potatoes or cheese? Or better yet, cured meats with olives stuffed with garlic or spicy peppers.

He couldn’t imagined just eating cooked spinach (yuck, spinach) or fruit and then pretending like he wasn’t hungry. Zaire’s stomach growled as he thought about food and he coughed in an attempt to hide it from the other initiate.

Houri

 

[Houri]

Was that his stomach?

The poor lad, she's let him waste away.

Houri tried not to grimace. Her fault. Her fault, her fault, herfaultherfaultherfault. She took a deep breath and shoved the voices down.

"I'm not sure if you will have heard of it. It's a city called Anarsi, North-East of Vel Vâra. There are many elven clans who live in Cortosi, a great many moved there when Aniria claimed their lands but they trade across the borders still. My cousins do not care for politics if it makes them rich," her lips twitched. She had not seen them for many years but from the way Jiya looked as though she might break her quill every time she got a letter from them she imagined they had not changed much.

"As for elvish food... no. I think they're as varied as humans in what they like. The ones in Cortos eat fish at least, and my sister says even those in the elvish quarter hunt."

 

[Zaire]

“You’re right, I haven’t heard of it.” Vel Vara at least sounded familiar, as did Cortos. He had never been good with geography, but he could assume the general direction of where Anarsi was. Zaire felt a wave of relief. Alright, hopefully no spinach then. He felt hopeful in trying some of the food, even if it would only be street food at best.

“HALT.” The initiates were motioned to stop as a elven guard with a pole arm that was far more pretty than it should have— maybe it was only for decoration instead of fighting?— and held up his free hand, palm facing towards them. Zaire stopped, bringing forth the documents given to them and unfolded it so that the seal could be seen clearly.

The guard came up to them, eyeing them both but… he didn’t look distrustful. Nothing like the elves around the Falwood usually looked, at least.

“Are you the Initiates from Vel Anir?” Oh, so that was why. They were expecting them. Zaire nodded and held out the paper with the emerald green wax seal that depicted a scene of deer, rabbits and birds. It must have taken someone a year to create such a stamp that could so clearly show the scene despite wax being the medium. Zaire could never sit down for that long and stare at the same thing day by day.

“Names?”

“Initiate Glaive and Initiate Luana.” The elf raised a blonde brow that would have put the Urahils to shame. “Uh… Zaire and… Houri? Well, she’s Houri and I’m… Zaire.” That seemed to be the better answer. Zaire hunched over, glancing at Houri. Why did it feel like every second was closer to a minute? What was taking this guard so long in looking over the seal? What was the point in asking their names? Or wanting their first names?

Like so many times before, Zaire became quieter and quieter, as if his presence was more like a shadow than a actual being.

Houri

 

[Houri]

"I thought they would send real Dreadlords, not children."

Houri's temper spiked.

I AM NO CHILD, BOY. Ahdvi's power laced through her veins and sparked along her fingertips forcing her to curl them into her palms so the small bolts of lightning hurt no one else. She found herself agreeing with the thunderous voice; she was no child. If it hadn't been for her... break she would have been a fully fledge Dreadlord by now and Zaire... Well Houri didn't actually know what Zaire did, but if he was being sent on missions with her he had to be good at what he did. Houri didn't suffer fools.

"You can explain to your superiors why not only two initiates, but two nobles of Vel Anir, were turned away because you thought them too young," her voice carried that biting tone she knew to be Ahdvi and the elf seemed to flinch in surprise.

"I meant no offence, Lady. Merely..." he glanced at her and seemed to think better of defending himself further. "Open the gates!" He called and waved to the two guards who had been stood behind them.

 

[Zaire]

His shoulders sagged further. Yeah, children, sure. Zaire wasn’t sure if the elf was calling them children because, well, wasn’t a hundred years still considered young for a elf? Or did they look that young? Zaire suspected that he most likely did with being the shortest man in his class and even the class beneath theirs.

But didn’t the triangle-like scar over his eye make him look at least a little bit older? He never thought he had that much of a baby face. He glanced over at Houri. She had more of a youthful face than he did, didn’t she? And she was older than him!

She acted older too. There was a confidence that hadn’t been there before as she spoke back to the elf, unfazed by his words unlike Zaire. His dark brows raised in awe and he looked back to the elf that seemed embarrassed by the whole thing now.

The gates opened and the elf ushered them into Amon Lanc. They rode their horses into the city and Zaire had to look over his shoulder at the elves behind them. They seemed to be chatting. Maybe about them? He looked over to Houri, a part of him wanting to thank her but thought better on it.

“That was cool.” He said, because to him, it was. Houri hadn’t even shied away from it. Even with the insult of them not being dreadlords yet. Zaire frowned for a moment. Well, not like he’d get anything higher than fourth level. But it didn’t matter, right when he graduated he was going into the reserves so he could search for Darakai and then bring him back home.

The large gates were further away from the actual city than it had looked outside. But once the initiates started down the road to the stone buildings, it became apparent that the outside may still look grand, but the inside was crumbling apart.

Gardens were mangled, homes falling apart, and things like fences or wooden stalls and coops were scorched as if someone had tried setting them on fire. On the outer part of the city, they saw no elves, heard no sounds.

“What the heck.” Maybe the place really had a goblin problem after all.

Houri

 

[Houri]

"They need rain," Houri's eyes turned into a silvery storm and waved a hand above the parched earth. Rainclouds formed and began to drizzle light refreshing rain onto the straining fauna though it did not touch the two initiates or the pathway. Her eyes continued to hold that twisting internal storm even as she looked at other spots along their route wondering how best to use her magic to heal the lands. More rainclouds came to nourish the earth where it needed it most but in the end she realised the whole city would need a few days of heavy rain to recover and conserved her strength; she didn't fancy hunting goblins in the rain.

"How can they judge us when they cannot even protect their own," Houri sniffed and the silvery-grey finally faded from her eyes. "They have magic, don't they?" her head cocked to one side.

Of course they do, these buildings could not have been made with just hands.

"Yes, exactly. I wonder why their magic isn't working on these things."

 

[Zaire]

He didn’t much like the rain if only because he didn’t want to get wet before the meeting. Yet despite the rain clouds above them, neither or them got a single drop of rain on them or their horses. Zaire didn’t tell Houri to stop, understanding her heart was in the right place.

Vel Ehn would love her if she could make it rain whenever she wanted it to. Olive trees needed a lot of water. Zaire knew his mother would be particularly ecstatic about the possibility of it.

“Maybe the goblins got their hand on a anti-magic armor or something?” That was hard to believe. Zaire hadn’t encountered goblins in years, they were the sort of enemies that the younger kids would be sent out to fight on their missions. Not only did they have low intelligence but their weapons were fragile and rudimentary at best. As for the armor, well, Zaire couldn’t say he ever saw a goblin realign wearing armor.

They were lucky to wear the scraps of fabric that they fashioned into sparse clothing, although Zaire wished they would have more to wear. There was no way that the goblins got their hands on something that could be terrorizing the elves. It had to be something else.

“Or maybe their magic is impractical for war? You know how the elves are always complaining about… newer magic.” He whispered towards Houri. Zaire wasn’t sure if it was true or not, but he had always heard stories about Elven hearing and how they could hear others speaking poorly of them or hearing the voices of nature and gods. He may have been an initiate but he wasn’t going to risk getting dirty looks by insinuating that the elves were idiots when it came to fighting.

Houri

 

[Houri]

"My sister makes that," Houri commented idly in the same manner she might point out a cow or a sheep along the road on her travels when Zaire mentioned anti-magic armour. In fact, Houri had helped her sister test her latest inventions just the other week; the Guard seemed greatly interested in Jiya's work. The young initiate didn't understand why; the Dreadlords were more than enough protection for Aniria.

"Elves have been fighting us for years, I don't think they've been using pretty magic doing that," she pointed out to Zaire's other point. Her brows drew down into a thoughtful frown; they were two excellent suggestions but one had holes and the other... Houri couldn't see any signs of anti-magic weapons here. If anything it looked as though the goblins had somehow harnessed their own form of powerful magic and let it loose on the poor city.

There was little time left for discussing theories as soon their horses came upon the remains of the city where life still appeared to exist. Though from the way they were glanced at with hungry, vacant eyes, Houri had to wonder what kind of life that was.

They're afraid, Tiri whispered and Houri nodded grimly; what was strong enough to make elves afraid? From the largest house in the square emerged a tall figure dressed in robes appeared grim faced with a fresh burn scar covering one side of his face. The skin still oozed with bursting blisters.

"Dreadlords, well met. I wish it could have been under better circumstances."

 

[Zaire]

He had no idea what he was talking about, did he? Zaire shrugged and nodded his head. It made more sense to let Houri handle the thinking. He knew the only reason for being here was just to make her better than she already was. Wasn’t the nicest thought in the world, but when he looked over at Houri and saw the seriousness in her eyes that contradicted her lax tone, he couldn’t quite say he minded such a thing. Nevertheless Zaire was quiet as a elf with a marred face greeted them.

“You’re Rhorothomir?” Zaire asked, already forgoing his vow of silence. If this was the leader of the city, and he looked like this…

“No, no, Rhorothomir is attending to certain matters.” The elf said, a grim look on their face. “We were attacked again last night.” Zaire looked around. And that was when he finally noticed it. Large holes that were scattered around the ground, even on stone paths. He hadn’t noticed them when they had been around the gardens and fields because upturned earth wasn’t that unusual.

But now, in the city’s center, they were blatant disturbances that he couldn’t unseen. All at once he could count them by the dozen in any direction he looked.

“I am Alathon, one of the three advisors on Amon Lanc’s council. I often oversee our foreign relationships. It was I who actually wrote the letter you carry, although Rhorothomir was made to sign it.” It seemed the elf was trying to smile, but failed, either because it was too painful or his face wouldn’t allow him to. Two elves appeared as Alathon gestured for them to step forward and to take the horses from the initiates when they dismounted.

“Follow me,” and the elf quickly began leading Houri and Zaire into the large home. Although the moment the initiates were inside they would see that the home had been turned into a medic bay, with many elves in obvious pain. Those that were able bodied were dressing wounds or administering medicine, the smell of blood and herbal poultices mixing in the air and creating a bitter, metallic smell that invaded Zaire’s nostrils.

Zaire guessed at least half of the city’s inhabitants were here, and wherever he looked— whether it was on the second floor or to one of the four halls, it seemed someone was rushing or calling for aid or delivering bad news. He glanced at Houri, wondering what she thought of it, but Alathon moved quickly past the pain and suffering.

To one of the back halls on the right side they turned, the three of them forced into a single-file line to not knock into the tired elves. Elves were supposed to be beautiful creatures. Everyone here looked bedraggled at best. They went into a door on the left at the end of the hall. Alathon let the initiates head inside first and shut the door behind them. He didn’t follow them into the room.

Rhorothomir, or what Zaire expected to be the elf in charge, wasn’t what he expected. The first reason was because he looked young, his face having the youthfulness that belonged to Zaire and Houri. The second reason was because he was crying as he knelt over a body of a child. His tears shimmered. There was something special about those rivulets of rainbows that reflected like diamond dust. There was also a third reason why Zaire was surprised: Rhorothomir was missing his left arm completely.

“You’re early and yet,” the voice was masculine and feminine all at once and filled with melancholy. “Somehow you both have arrived too late.” Slowly, the elf would stand and look at the initiates. “But your arrival is most welcome.”

Houri