Along the road of Dolvadish, we came across a certain carriage. It was not a merchant's carriage, nor a noble envoy. At first glance, it seemed like an ordinary carriage— but it was a royal legate from the empire of Endregar. Peering closer, we saw two flags standing firmly like an iron grip on the leaders' hands. One shows the flag of an empire, and the other shows the ensign of the high priest of Endregar.
Accompanied by twelve men of high orders, of graceful armours and noble statues. They march through the roads of Dolvadish, undaunted by whatever lurks in an ambush.
A barrier was erected… unseen to the eyes, The closer you get, the more you feel your skin dampen— like water crashing through a rock, eating the surface little by little.
Inside, we see her… clothed in azure as any priestess would wear. She was as graceful as the goddess she served, not old but young. And a face that tells she was around for more than a hundred years, ancient to one's look.
Raking around our sight, two attendants were facing her. An armoured lady, a short-haired paladin of Aziru. Her eyes were closed, half asleep and half sensing what comes around. Her posture shows discipline, and in discipline demonstrates experience.
To her side was a young man, a scribbler of the old. From the badge he wears, the man was one of the VoyagingScholars.
"Lady Ferish, you seem fond of the old ways of travel." The scholar spoke.
Ferish— softly, without looking at him. "Fond… is not the word." She gazes beyond the carriage veil. "The road teaches what the arcane shortcuts cannot."
"Teleportation would have brought us there in moments." The scholar's words hint at a challenge of debate.
"And we would arrive having learned nothing." Ferish's voice was calm. "A journey skipped is a lesson refused."
A pause follows, as the carriage rolls.
"No dust on our feet. No wind in our breath. No sense of distance… or cost." The priest softly adds.
The scholar smiled, submitting to her own perspective. She was old, and as they say, never teach an old dragon.
Leaving outside, the leader looked at the sky and saw dusk approaching. The red glowing sunset that paints the sky, the coming darkness of the east. Passing another few hundred meters, the leader saw a grassy plain, a place to rest. He gestures with his hand, and so did the carriage stops. Quickly unhorsing, the man treads slowly until he faces the carriage door.
The man knocked three times before bowing outside. "My lady, dusk is approaching. Shall we continue our travels, or camp for the night?"
"Let us take camp. I miss the old night sky on the outside planes of Endregar." The priestess answered.
"As you wish, Lady Ferish." The knight answered.
And on they prepared, unrolling scrolls that are too expensive for a novice adventurer to hold. Soon, the area was filled with tents and campfires. There was no barking from the leader, for these are men who know their jobs very well.
Ferish exits the carriage, and right there and then, she did as any priestess would do… Hardly raising her hand, water slowly appears from her palm.
Tossing through the air, the ball-like water spread thin, so fine that it was invisible to the normal sight. There, a barrier was erected, through which water was made.
"This will do for the night," Ferish spoke.
Nothing more to be seen; we shift ourselves to where the traveller from Earth is situated.
After quickly changing all his clothes, Natalak felt something. A person, a presence slowly emerging. It was Chifya, and she was delivering something from Natalak.
His senses scream to run, but the vines from the ground constrict him to escape. He searches for his bag, for any weapons that might give hope. Sadly, the vines grow unnaturally fast, gripping his arms. Ice begins to invade the air, to the ground, followed by a misty white, leaking through Chifya's body.
"Um, coming to confess your love? My dear?" The traveller jests, still trying to move his muscle and trying hard to mask his fear.
There were no answers; instead, the lady of mixed blood unsheathed her ebony dagger.
"Fuck me… I'm done for. And fuck you."
"Who really are you?" The elf's expression turns into a murderous intent.
"I am Natalak. Why do you ask?"
The vines tighten. "Do not play wit with me!" Chifya scoff. "That presence… that distortion, I have seen it before."
Natalak gave a stupefied expression. "Distortion? Lady, I barely know how to stand right now." Natalak said, trying his best to mask his stammering voice.
Chifya steps closer, her voice now colder, though suppressing her boiling blood. "You Veilmages hide behind ignorance. They slip between truths… wear faces that are not theirs."
Natalak blinks.
"Veil—?"
The air freezes slightly. Her grip tightens, and before Natalak could even continue his reason. The dagger made of pure darkness plunged into his right shoulder.
Natalak didn't scream; he groaned, muffling the pain as much as he could.
"Go on, let your magic rage through this land. Didn't you even feel what your kind had done? The cries of the ones you take, the ones you and your kin burned to death." Chifya scoffs; her elven magic begins to swell, changing her appearance from human that to a full elf.
Her raven hair, now coated in the full silver moon, her dark brown eyes slowly change to a purple gleam. Radiant and powerful, Chifya's height gains, as if she was anticipating something, a surprise power of a Veilmage in hiding.
She gazes down at Natalak, expecting a surge of Veilmage magic coming from the man. Yet there was none, only a weary face of a man still holding the pain. Chifya, however, didn't buy it; thus, she drove the black blade deeper.
"Perhaps at death's door will reveal your true nature." She then brought the dagger's twin.
"Do it then, if it will satisfy your worth." Natalak mutter, his breath heavy and measured. His eyes fix on Chifya, a judgment that was cursed even to death. "And once you are finished, use the crystal orb if I am truly a veilmage."
The pain was different; her blade was like a vacuum, both sucking the life and the blood of Natalak. He could feel his fluid being pulled from his body, drunk, absorbed by the blade.
Placing the second dagger at his throat. Chifya then slowly presses the edge, steadily slicing his flesh. She paused, there was a hesitation— maybe he wasn't a veilmage after all. He was already at his last leg… still, there was nothing, no magic erupting to save himself. It was then she decided, as if something had rung her senses, her humanity.
The vines loosened, and quickly Natalak fell to the ground. The dagger shows its ability; he had lost too much blood to make a stand. His skin turns pale, showing it has lost colour and blood.
"Heal me a bit, if you don't want to kill me." Groans, Natalak, hardly raising his hand.
Doubtful, Chifya frizzes his arms, averting any magic that might surprise her. And in the midst of her healing, a presence reveals itself.
"S-Sheila?" Stammers Chifya, gazing at the woman standing, looking at them. And possibly witnessed all of her actions.
She didn't respond. Sheila quickly takes action, channelling her healing magic towards the dying man. As soon as Natalak began to regain his consciousness, Chifya bolted away without any warning. Conceivably too remorseful for her doings.
"Sister Chifya! Wait! —" Sheila's hand gestures for her to stop.
"Am I healed?" Natalak groans; his vision turns blurry.
"Stay still, you will be good in no time."
Natalak groans… tamely invites slumber.
A few hours had passed, and there was a shift in the sky. The clouds began to darken as dusk approached, and bits of rain started to fall. Citizens now empty the streets as only guards and night-watchers toil through the streets. Inns' floor stained in wet boots, dripping damp cloak adds. The night came and cold it follows, but the beer from the inn, the flickering fire, and the ecstasy of flesh… warmth others from the night's bitterness.
Entering Sheila's home, we see that the place was near empty— feasibly on their bed. But one remained on the table, half sleeping faintly on her seat. The only source of light was the dangling orb at the centre of the board. Then Sheila's eyes open, as if sensing someone— arguably, there was a faint knock on the door. From her own, she already knew who it was.
"Come in, the food is still warm," Sheila said after the door was opened.
But Chifya was hesitant; the pouring rain made her clothes and hair drip. She had already reverted to her original form.
"You still haven't finished healing my wounds." She further commanded Chifya to come in.
In a quick, fleeting hour, the two are on the table. It was evident that Chifya had finished her meal, and tea was warming her hand. Now garbed in a fine white dress, there was something on her tongue.
"He is asleep; he has lost too much blood." Sheila voiced.
"You saw it all." Chifya's eyes look down, both her hands wrapped sympathetically around the cup.
"It's not only that, even before that encounter, I already perceived your intentions."
"I thought he was a Veilmage, acting as an ordinary human. Holding such a relic and his enigmatic presence led me to believe he was one of them."
"I understand your reason. However, it is best that you settle the misunderstanding with him." Sheila stood. "As for the scorched magic that needs your healing, shall we continue?"
As fast as the passing wind, the night departed from its chair, briefly letting daylight be seated for a time. The following morning, Natalak awakens. His head felt heavy, still regaining the strength from the previous day's situation.
He looks around— Chifya wasn't present, the only thing that gave attendance was her small laboratories, still covered by thick thorny vines. The day was cold, with no sunrise visits and only a cloudy atmosphere. "It will rain", a thought from Natalak's prediction.
"What the hell just happened yesterday?" Yawns Natalak.
And as always, he was searching for his bag, and there it was just placed right beside Chifya's laboratory.
"I'm hungry, so very-very hungry," Natalak mutters, sitting on the edge of the bed, too lazy to move a muscle.
There he contemplates. "Why in the hell am I the one brought to this place?" He gazes at the ceiling.
His stomach was rumbling, and with nothing to do, he finally mustered a trivial vitality. Upon his descent, he saw Sheila already preparing breakfast, and from the looks… she was near finished.
"Where are the others?" Natalak called.
"Ah, you're awake." She answered. "They are at the guild; their training is underway. And as you can tell, I am not allowed to do any magic training."
"I see."
"About sister Chifya." Sheila then prepares the table. "She is asleep at the moment, there in my room."
"Oh." Natalak then sat at the table, easing his watery mouth and rumbling stomach.
As they were having their breakfast.
"This place goes rather silent sometimes. Do Sei and the other regularly stay at the guild?"
"Sometimes, though they often come to visit. The guild had provided housing and support to the new members, such as us."
Answered, with no more questions to ask, the two resume eating. Soon, the lingering of his still recovery needs another night's rest. But how can he when sleep cannot visit him? Eventually, he searches his bag— pulling a book and a feather. Natalak then begins making black powder.
He knows this will be a long journey, but he needs it one way or another. After some time, Natalak finally gets the sleep he has been wanting.
When awoken, the time had already passed sunset. As stars begins to emerge from the early night sky. A few moments… a knock came.
Quickly, Natalak opened, perceiving it was Sheila. His face showed surprise when he faced Chifya. He didn't shut the door… Instead, he backs three steps away from the elf.
And upon entering, Chifya slowly closed the door, and when Natalak saw that she didn't flick the lock, there was a faint sense of relief.
"There is something I would like to have a conversation about," Chifya said, focusing her gaze on Natalak.