Aleria's fingers toyed with the tarnished iron pendant hanging around her neck, tracing the grooves worn into the metal over decades of fidgeting. Outside the wagon's canvas flap, the driver's cheerful whistling filtered in, a tune she'd grown familiar with over their weeks of travel. His upbeat demeanour reminded her of a puppy, always eager to please.
"Nearly there, miss," he called over his shoulder. "Should be pulling' into Last Gate 'fore long."
She hummed a non-committal response, not lifting her gaze from studying the pendant's intricate design. The constant rocking of the wagon had become a sort of lullaby, lulling her into a trance-like state during their journey.
"You, er, got folks waitin' for ya there?" When she didn't reply, he ploughed on, undeterred. "Or just passin' through, like? Can't imagine it'd be easy, settlin' anywhere after..."
His words trailed off, the unspoken weight of The Demon War hanging in the air between them. Aleria's grip tightened on the pendant until her knuckles turned white. So many lives lost, entire kingdoms razed to the ground...
She blinked, shoving the thought aside as the wagon hit a rut in the road, jolting her from her reverie. "We'll see," she said curtly, praying he'd take the hint and leave her be.
To his credit, the driver seemed to sense her shift in mood, whistling tunelessly as they trundled along in silence. Aleria turned her gaze outward, watching the crumbling remnants of an old border fort appear through the trees.
Last Gate had grown into a sprawling town, verging on a city, in the aftermath of the war, a ramshackle patchwork of buildings and tents housing the countless lost and displaced. Even from this distance, she could make out the bustling comings and goings of people - soldiers, refugees, tradesmen. Even now, 3 years later, a stark reminder of how many lives had been shattered by the war's brutality.
The wagon lurched to a halt, snapping Aleria from her brooding thoughts. She peered out to see they had arrived at Last Gate's marketplace, teeming with people haggling over wares and fresh produce.
"Well, this is as far as I'm headed, miss," the driver said over his shoulder. He flashed her a crooked grin. "If you're just passin' through, you'll need to find yourself another ride. This is as far north as I go."
Aleria nodded, unsurprised by his remark. As far as most were concerned, Last Gate marked the edge of the civilised world - beyond lay the vast, ungoverned stretches of the former Demon King's territory. A no-man's land still teeming with the monstrous remnants of his armies.
"I understand," she replied, swinging her pack over her shoulder, taking up her heavy trunk and ducking out of the wagon. "You've been a decent travelling companion."
He sketched an exaggerated bow from his perch, tipping an imaginary hat. "An honour to serve, milady." With a wink and a snap of the reins, he was off, merging back into the river of people and carts flowing through the market stalls.
Aleria allowed herself to be swept along in the crush, keeping her head down and hood pulled low. Even now, her ears were still attuned to the slightest whispers or odd glances, instincts intent on keeping a low profile. Of course, that hadn't always been the case...
She cast furtive glances around Last Gate, taking in the old and newly sprung buildings clustered together. A sprawling patchwork of salvaged materials and makeshift shelters, overflowing with people who, like her, had nowhere else to go.
Tattered banners emblazoned with the crests of fallen kingdoms flapped overhead, honoured reminders of the lives lost, and lands conquered. Aleria's gaze lingered on a faded green unicorn stitched onto a torn flag - the sigil of Veldaren, one of the first kingdoms to fall to the demon hordes.
Despite the squalor, there was an unmistakable energy thrumming through Last Gate's streets. Merchants hawking their wares with booming calls, the scents of exotic spices and roasting meat hung thick in the air, and the clang of a distant blacksmith's hammer provided a rhythmic counterpoint.
People from all walks of life brushed shoulders here - tanned farmers with calloused hands, grizzled soldiers bearing the scars of battle, even the occasional noble down on their luck, fallen from grace. For the first time since the war's end, Aleria found herself surrounded by the sights, sounds and smells of life rather than death and destruction.
A young boy darted through the crowd, nearly bowling her over as he rushed past clutching a pilfered apple to his chest. Aleria steadied herself with a hand on a nearby stall, lips twitching in amusement at his mischievous grin.
"Sorry, miss!" he called over his shoulder, not sounding the least bit contrite as he vanished into an alleyway.
Aleria shook her head, the ghost of a smile playing across her lips. Perhaps there was a sliver of hope to be found here.
Aleria caught the eye of a kindly old woman tending a stall overflowing with vibrant bolts of cloth. "Excuse me," she called out, raising her voice to be heard over the din of the market. "Might you be able to point me towards the garrison? I'm looking for someone - a soldier by the name of Bernard Blackfist."
The merchant squinted at her for a moment, lips pursed as if weighing whether Aleria could be trusted. Finally, she jerked her chin towards the north end of the market. "Garrison, eh? You'll want the big stone building 'across from the cathedral. But these days, folk just call it the mayor's office."
Aleria blinked in surprise. "The mayor's...?"
She must have betrayed her scepticism, as the old woman's perpetual scowl deepened. "Aye, the mayor. Don't let that fool you, though - Blackfist still runs things like he's leadin' troops into battle." A harsh cackle escaped her thin lips. "Got a way with gettin' folk to snap in line, that one."
Nodding her thanks, Aleria turned and headed in the direction indicated, the merchant's cackling laughter following her through the crowd. Bernard, a mayor? She shook her head in disbelief as she wound through the maze of stalls and shoppers.
The very idea of her former friend holding any kind of civic role strained credulity. Bernard had always been a soldier through and through - blunt, foul-mouthed, with a permanent smirk etched into his craggy features. Diplomacy and politicking were about as far from his skillset as spell casting.
Yet as she neared the former garrison, the signs became undeniable - Bernard's influence lingered in the no-nonsense regimentation of the bustling township around her. The streets were laid out in an orderly grid pattern, buildings constructed with the same utilitarian efficiency of military barracks. Even the people hurrying about their business moved with a certain brisk purposefulness, as if late for drill practice.
Aleria felt an odd pang of nostalgia at the familiar sights and sounds. This could have been any settlement in Kingdoms before the war, before the demons came and turned their world to ash.
The old garrison loomed ahead, its sturdy stone walls defying the ravages of battle and time. A tattered banner bearing the twin griffins of the fallen kingdom of Estian still flew from the ramparts, the once-vibrant colours faded to a dull grey. Aleria's gaze lingered on the sigil, a hollow ache settling in her chest. Even here… no, especially here the ghosts of the past couldn't be outrun.
Aleria stepped through the arched gateway into the garrison's central courtyard, the heavy doors thudding shut behind her. Despite the outward appearance of the fortified walls, the interior buzzed with activity more akin to a bureaucrat's office than a military outpost.
Clerks and runners scurried about, arms laden with tottering stacks of parchment and ledgers. A constant murmur of quill scratches and muttered asides provided a droning undercurrent to the commotion. In one corner, a knot of off-duty soldiers loitered around a battered table, dicing and trading jovial insults over mugs of ale.
At the centre of the chaos, a young man - little more than a boy, really - sat behind a battered desk, quill scratching furiously as he scribbled away. He glanced up as Aleria approached, fixing her with a politely inquisitive look.
"Can I help you, ma'am?"
Aleria lifted her chin, allowing her hood to fall back and reveal her face. The clerk's eyes widened almost imperceptibly at her youthful, unlined features. A common enough reaction - most assumed her an untested girl on first glance, not the seasoned woman she was.
"I'm here to see Bernard Blackfist," she replied evenly, meeting the boy's gaze without flinching. "He'll be expecting me, I'm an...old friend."
The slightest of frowns creased the clerk's brow as he considered her words. For a tense moment, Aleria feared he might turn her away, dismissing her claim out of hand. Instead, he gave a curt nod and gestured for her to wait.
Rising from his seat, the young man slipped between a cluster of scribes poring over a map, skirting around a makeshift pen where a pair of messenger ravens bobbed and cawed. Aleria watched him disappear through an arched doorway, the sounds of his footsteps fading as he climbed an interior staircase.
She busied herself fishing out the crumpled letter from Bernard, hoping it would serve as proof enough of her relationship to the erstwhile commander. The parchment was creased and stained from her months of travel, but the familiar blunt scrawl was still legible:
"Aleria - If you're reading this, you daft witch, it means you've pulled your head out of whatever rabbit hole you've been hiding in these past couple years. Get your skinny arse to Last Gate - I could use a friendly face 'round here who doesn't flinch at the sight of their own shadow..."
The sound of footsteps on the stairs made her glance up. The clerk reappeared; a questioning look on his face as he approached.
"You'll need to show me some proof of..." He trailed off as Aleria wordlessly held out the letter. Plucking it from her grasp, he scanned the contents, brow furrowing slightly as he read.
After a moment's hesitation, he handed the parchment back with a curt nod. "Right then, seems you're expected after all. If you'll follow me..."
The young man led Aleria up a winding staircase, their footsteps echoing off the stone walls. She trailed behind him, hand tightly wrapped around the handle of her trunk and strap of her pack.
They emerged onto a cramped landing; a heavy oak door set into the far wall. The clerk rapped his knuckles against the aged wood, the dull thudding reverberating through the hall.
"Enter!" a gruff voice barked from within.
The young man shot Aleria a sidelong glance, as if seeking reassurance, before grasping the iron handle and swinging the door inward. He stepped across the threshold, back stiff with deference.
"Sir, you have a... visitor."
Aleria followed a pace behind, ducking her head slightly as she crossed into the sparsely appointed chamber. A cluttered desk stood before the room's lone window, sunlight streaming in to illuminate the piles of maps and reports strewn across its scarred surface.
And there, bent over the desk with his brow furrowed in concentration, was Bernard. His once-dark hair had gone completely silver, cropped close in the military style she remembered. Faint lines mapped the contours of his face, betraying his advancing years.
At the clerk's words, Bernard glanced up, eyes narrowing as they swept over Aleria's hooded form. For a moment, his expression remained impassive, inscrutable. Then, like a sudden breaking of storm clouds, his craggy features split into a broad grin.
"Well, I'll be damned," he rumbled, the hint of an Estanian brogue still clinging to his vowels. "The ol' bitch herself, in the flesh."
Rising from his chair, he crossed the room in three long strides, pulling Aleria into a fierce embrace. She stiffened automatically at the unexpected contact before forcing herself to relax, tentatively returning the hug.
"It's...good to see you too, Bernard," she murmured, the words feeling clumsy on her tongue.
Releasing her, Bernard stepped back, eyes roving over her with an appraising look. "You haven't aged a day, have you?" He snorted, shaking his head in bemusement. "Should've known - you daft magic types never seem to grow old, do you?"
A thin smile played across Aleria's lips at the familiar gruffness. "And you're just as charming as I remember."
Bernard threw back his head with a bark of laughter. Clapping her on the shoulder hard enough to make her knees buckle, he grinned. "That's my girl. Was startin' to think you'd never take me up on that invitation, you know."
He waved a dismissive hand at the clerk, who still hovered uncertainly in the doorway. "That'll be all, lad. Me and the lady have some catchin' up to do."
As the young man scurried off, Bernard turned back to Aleria, an impish glint in his eye.
"Now then, how's about you tell me where the hells you've been these past couple years? Last I heard, you'd gone to ground after that business up north..."
Aleria nodded, her gaze dropping briefly, "I... intended to go home, after it was all over," she admitted, voice soft. "But when I arrived, there wasn't really anything to go back to."
Bernard's expression softened, a look of understanding passing over his weathered features. He gave a solemn nod, as though her words struck a familiar chord. "Aye, that is a common tale. For too many of us."
His gruff tones held no judgement, only empathy borne of shared experience. They had both seen too much, lost too much in those brutal years to dwell on such tragedies anymore.
Aleria lifted her eyes to meet his, a faint smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she regarded her old friend. "So then, Mayor Blackfist? I must admit, I never took you for a sovereign."
Bernard snorted, rolling his eyes heavenward as if beseeching some higher power for patience. "You and me both, lass." He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as a world-weary look stole across his features.
"After the Endlords fell, there were... decisions to be made, about what came next. This was a military outpost, sure, but then a whole bloody town decided to sprout up around it." He waved a hand vaguely, encompassing the very walls surrounding them.
"Folks started showin' up - soldiers with nowhere left to go, civilians fleein' the wastes, even a few daft nobles who'd managed not to get their fool heads lopped off." A rueful chuckle rumbled from deep within his broad chest. "Half of 'em near starved, all lookin' to me and the garrison boys to put a ruddy roof over their heads."
Aleria arched an eyebrow, intrigued despite herself. She could practically see the situation unfolding - Bernard, that stalwart immovable object, gradually getting swept up and along by the tides of the powerless masses seeking shelter and security. It was almost comical, in a way.
"So, what was a good soldier to do, eh?" Bernard continued with a lopsided smirk. "Couldn't very well just turn 'em away, not after everythin' they'd been through. Next thing I know, I've got myself a town to keep from tearin' itself apart."
His gaze grew distant for a moment, drifting back through the years as he relived those chaotic first days. When his eyes refocused on Aleria, they held a look she hadn't seen before - a sort of gruff, world-weary pride.
"Somebody had to keep this ramshackle lot in line, I suppose. Figured it may as well be me."
Aleria listened intently as Bernard recounted his unlikely ascension, a faint smile playing at the corners of her lips. For all his gruff bluster, it was oddly heartening to see her old friend find purpose amidst the chaos left in the war's wake.
"So that explains the new title," she remarked once he'd finished. "But it doesn't answer why you called me here after all this time. Surely you didn't just miss my pretty face?"
Bernard snorted, rolling his eyes heavenward. "As if, you daft witch. I've had quite enough of your shite to last me into my dotage."
His expression grew serious, the familiar creases in his brow deepening. "Truth is, I need someone I can trust, 'Ria. Someone with...particular talents, if you take my meanin'."
Aleria felt her amusement fade, shoulders tensing almost imperceptibly. Did he mean to call upon the soldier he knew? The thought made her gut clench uneasily.
Before she could respond, Bernard held up a calloused hand, forestalling her objection. "It's nothin' like that, so you can uncork that look. I just need a skilled healer is all."
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He paused, something sombre flickering across his weathered features. "You remember ol' Perchfoot, don't you? Scrawny little sod, barely came up to my knees?"
The name sparked a flicker of recognition. Aleria nodded slowly, the image of a grizzled, foul-mouthed halfling coalescing in her mind's eye. "Your medic during the campaigns, right? The drunk who was more likely to douse your wounds in rotgut than apply a proper dressing."
"That's the one." Bernard's rumbling chuckle held a hint of fond reminiscence. "Miserable bastard saved my hide more times than I care to count, for all his proclivity for the bottle."
His expression sobered once more. "Well, when this whole mess started comin' together, turns out Perchfoot had a mind to set up shop here in Last Gate. Figured with all the poor bastards rollin' in hurt and sick, he could ply his trade proper-like for once."
Aleria felt a pang of sadness, sensing where this tale was headed. "But, I take it the drink finally caught up with him?"
Bernard gave a solemn nod. "Aye, that it did. Six months back, the little sod just... didn't wake up one mornin'. Went peacefully, at least - more'n most of us can hope for, I reckon."
His gaze grew distant for a moment, no doubt reflecting on the countless brutal deaths they'd witnessed over the years. When he refocused on Aleria, his eyes held a look she recognized - that of a soldier readying himself for a difficult mission.
"Point is, Last Gate's been without a proper healer since then. We've got the basics covered - barbers, midwives, even Perchfoot's old assistant. But nothin' on Perchfoot's level, let alone yours."
Aleria felt her chest tighten as the words hung in the air between them. Nothing on the level of her own preternatural talents - the magic that had earned her a reputation. A tremor of trepidation rippled through her.
"Does... anyone here know?" The words slipped out before she could stop them, little more than a hoarse whisper. "About who I was... back then?"
Bernard's brow furrowed slightly at her reticence, but he shook his head. "Nobody 'round these parts would recognize you, 'Ria. All the soldiers who might've are long gone - moved on to greener pastures, or just gone in general, if you take my meanin'."
He let out a derisive snort. "Way I hear it told nowadays; The Emerald Witch was naught but a nursemaid's tale to frighten the young'uns into eating their veg. Not that any of the stories ever did you justice, mind."
A wry smirk played across his weathered features. "They do tend to leave out the part where you spent half your days caked head-to-toe in gore, aye? Probably for the best, I s'pose - wouldn't do to have the little tykes soiling their skivvies."
Despite Bernard's casual dismissal, Aleria couldn't quite suppress the tremor of unease coursing through her veins. Her grisly moniker may have faded into myth, but the truth of what she'd done, what she was capable of... that was something she could never escape.
Still, if anyone could understand the demons that drove her, it was Bernard. They'd fought side-by-side through the worst of the war's savagery. If he didn't recoil at the mere notion of her bloody talents, perhaps she could allow herself to entertain the idea, however briefly.
Aleria gave a slow nod, the weight of Bernard's request settling onto her shoulders like a heavy mantle. For so long, she had wandered aimlessly, seeking solitude and anonymity in equal measure. Now her old friend asked her to emerge from the shadows once more, to embrace the very skills that had made her a figure of dread during the war.
Yet what choice did she truly have? Last Gate needed a healer, someone capable of tending to the wounded and infirm. More importantly, Bernard needed her - one of the few souls left who knew her not just as the dreaded Emerald Witch, but as Aleria, the woman beneath the myth. Could she turn her back on him after everything they'd endured?
"Very well," she said at last, meeting Bernard's expectant gaze. "I'll do it. Though I can't promise to match dear Perchfoot's... bedside manner."
Bernard threw back his head with a bark of laughter. "Just so long as you go a bit lighter on the rotgut than that ol' sot, I'll consider it an improvement."
Aleria allowed a faint smile to tug at the corners of her mouth. "I'll have to make do without my usual cellar of bloodwine, I suppose."
Bernard's grin widened, the creases around his eyes deepening with mirth. "That's my girl. Knew you'd come 'round."
His expression sobered somewhat as he regarded her thoughtfully. "Now, as for lodgin' - Perchfoot had himself a little apartment above the clinic, so he could be on hand for any emergencies at all hours. Thought you could set up shop there, have it to yourself."
Aleria felt a pang of gratitude towards the gruff old soldier. Clearly, he had put some thought into her needs, ensuring she would have both privacy and easy access to her charges. A luxury she had seldom afforded during their campaigning days.
"That sounds... amenable," she replied with a nod. "Though I confess, running an entire clinic on my own seems a rather daunting prospect." Her lips quirked in a self-deprecating smile. "My talents may be unique, but I'm far from accustomed to the day-to-day drudgery of sawbones work."
"Which is why you'll have some help, lass." Bernard's gruff tones held a reassuring note. "Young Haddy, Perchfoot's former assistant? She'll be stickin' around to lend a hand - fetch supplies, take messages, that sort of thing. Lass has got a decent enough head on her shoulders, from what I've seen."
Aleria arched an eyebrow in mild surprise. An assistant would certainly prove invaluable in keeping the clinic running smoothly. Though she couldn't quite suppress a flicker of trepidation at the thought of having a near-constant presence at her side once more.
Still, she supposed it was a minor inconvenience, one easily borne in exchange for a place to call home, however temporary. With a faint nod, she replied, "Very well then. When can I take over the premises?"
"Soon as you're ready," Bernard assured her with an offhand wave of his calloused hand. "I'll have the lads air the place out, tidy it up a bit. Other'n that..." He trailed off with a shrug.
Aleria turned her gaze towards the window, watching as the sun began its slow descent towards the horizon. Burnished rays slanted through the glass, casting long shadows that stretched across the floor like grasping claws. A faint frown creased her brow as she considered how swiftly the day had waned.
"I should get settled at the clinic before nightfall," she remarked, glancing back at Bernard. "Would you have someone show me the way?"
Bernard gave a curt nod. "Aye, of course." Striding over to the door, he flung it open and leaned out, peering down at the courtyard below.
"You there!" he bellowed, his gruff tones carrying easily over the din. "The lad who brought the lady up - fetch him here!"
Aleria arched an eyebrow at his brusque manner, though she couldn't quite suppress an amused smirk. Clearly, being in charge agreed with Bernard - he had always been one to embrace authority with relish.
A few moments later, the young clerk who had admitted her earlier scurried through the doorway, eyes wide. "Y-You called for me, sir?"
"Aye, that I did." Bernard jerked his head towards Aleria. "See the lady gets settled at Perchfoot's old clinic, would you? And try not to get turned around - she's got enough on her plate without having to go huntin' for you."
The young man bobbed his head furiously. "A-At once, sir!" Turning to Aleria, he gestured towards the door. "If you'll just follow me, m'lady?"
As she fell into step behind the lad, Bernard called out once more. "I'll have a couple lads sent 'round come first light, 'Ria. Get the place proper aired out, ready for you to receive patients and the like."
Aleria paused, glancing back over her shoulder with a faint smile. "My thanks, Bernard. I expect I'll need all the help I can get, once word spreads."
The older man's gruff features split into a knowing grin. "Aye, you're like to have your hands full soon enough, I'd wager. Best get yourself settled in while you can."
With a final nod, Aleria turned and followed the young clerk out into the torch-lit corridor beyond Bernard's office.
Bernard's gruff tones echoed down the corridor behind them. "For Eldain's sake lad, take the lady's bags for her!"
Aleria glanced back over her shoulder, lips quirking in faint amusement as the young clerk flushed crimson. Clearly chastened by the rebuke, he spun on his heel and hurried back towards her.
"M-My apologies, milady," he stammered, stooping to scoop up her modest trunk from where it rested at her feet. "I should've - that is, I mean to say, allow me."
Aleria merely inclined her head, acknowledging his belated attempt at gallantry with a demure smile. Truth be told, she wasn't accustomed to such courtesies - her nomadic existence since the war's end had bred a certain self-reliance when it came to the simple tasks of travel.
Still, she could hardly fault the lad for his nervous ministrations. No doubt Bernard had impressed upon him the need to treat her with the utmost respect, regardless of her unassuming appearance. A wise precaution, she supposed, given the reputation that preceded her, however diminished it may have become.
"Think nothing of it," she replied smoothly, gesturing for him to lead on once more. "I'm quite capable of managing my own affairs. But I appreciate the thought all the same."
The clerk bobbed his head in a jerky nod, face still flushed a bright crimson as he turned and set off down the corridor once more. Aleria a half-step behind, her booted footfalls nearly silent on the worn stone floors.
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The young clerk led Aleria through the winding dirt streets of Last Gate, his steps hurried yet uncertain as he navigated the labyrinthine paths between the buildings. Aleria followed at a respectful distance, taking in her new surroundings with a critical eye.
Despite the town's haphazard construction, there was an undeniable vigour to the place - a sense of hard-won renewal amidst the rubble of the war's aftermath. Aleria could see it in the sturdy new timber frames being raised, the piles of repurposed stone stacked neatly for future building projects.
At length, they emerged into a small courtyard dominated by a stout, three-story edifice of solid masonry construction. Though the building itself was weathered, its thick walls and reinforced foundations spoke of a more permanent heritage amidst the temporary dwellings that had sprung up around it.
"This is it, milady," the clerk announced, slightly out of breath as he paused before the arched entranceway. "The old clinic."
Aleria's gaze lifted, taking in the worn wooden sign hanging above the door - a faded image of the caduceus staff, its serpentine forms almost indistinguishable beneath layers of grime and peeling paint. Even so, the ancient symbol of healing was unmistakable, a fitting emblem for the dilapidated structure.
Crossing the courtyard, she ran an appraising hand along the sunbaked stones of the outer wall, testing their solidity. Though eroded by countless seasons, the masonry was sound - clearly built to withstand far greater calamities than mere wind and rain.
"It will serve my purposes well, I think."
Stepping past the young man, Aleria ascended the shallow steps to the entrance and grasped the iron ring set into the weathered door. A firm tug was required to draw back the heavy oak panels, their rusted hinges groaning in protest at being roused from their long repose.
The heavy door however, refused to budge, no matter how Aleria strained against the iron ring. A low growl of frustration escaped her lips as she stepped back, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow with the back of her hand.
Peering up at the elevated windows lining the clinic's frontage, she rose up on her tiptoes, trying to see through the grime-streaked glass. Even standing at her full height, the sills were just out of her line of sight - the building's solid construction clearly intended to deter prying eyes.
After circling the perimeter, Aleria returned to the entrance, craning her neck in a futile attempt to discern any signs of life from within. The place seemed deserted, its dusty windows staring back at her with cold indifference.
A sudden clatter of footsteps from across the courtyard made her whirl around, one hand straying instinctively beneath her cloak. The young clerk flinched back, eyes widening at her sudden movement.
"Easy there, milady!" a feminine voice called out. "No need for that!"
Aleria's gaze snapped to the source of the cry - a plump, rosy-cheeked woman emerging from one of the nearby cottages. She wore a simple night-robe, hastily belted at the waist, with a tattered shawl thrown over her ample shoulders against the evening chill.
"What's all this ruckus, then?" the woman demanded, drawing up beside the clerk with a deeply furrowed brow. "Trying' to break into the old clinic, are we?"
Before the flustered young man could stammer out a reply, Aleria stepped forward, squaring her shoulders.
"I am Aleria, summoned to take over these premises by Mayor Blackfist." Her tone brooked no argument. "And you would be...?"
The woman's eyes widened, her stern expression melting into one of surprise and relief.
"Oh! Oh, of course - forgive me, milady!" Clutching her shawl tighter, she bobbed an awkward curtsy. "M‘names Haddy - I was old Perchfoot's assistant here at the clinic. We've been awaiting your arrival..."
Aleria watched with raised eyebrows as the portly woman hurried back towards her small cottage, her shawl flapping behind her like a tattered banner. A moment later, she reappeared clutching a heavy ring of iron keys, making a beeline for the clinic's entrance.
"Here we are, milady," Haddy puffed, selecting one of the larger keys and jamming it into the rusted lock. "Should've checked if I had these to begin with, instead of leaving you out here like a pair of strays!"
With an almighty groan of protest, the ancient mechanism finally yielded, allowing the heavy oak door to swing open on its hinges. A musty odour wafted out, smelling of disuse and stale air.
Aleria wrinkled her nose at the unwelcoming scent but stepped forward without hesitation, brushing past Haddy to gain her first proper view of the clinic's interior. Though gloomy in the fading evening light, she could make out a spacious entrance hall with a high, vaulted ceiling supported by thick wooden beams.
To her left, an arched doorway led further into the building's depths. Straight ahead, a broad staircase rose up towards the upper floors. Despite its neglected state, the place had an undeniable sturdiness - built to endure, much like its new mistress.
Turning back towards the entrance, Aleria regarded the young clerk who still lingered on the clinic's threshold, his eyes wide with curiosity. With a curt nod, she dismissed him.
"You have my thanks for guiding me here. That will be all."
The lad seemed to shrink back slightly at her brusque tone, his gaze flicking towards Haddy in wordless appeal. The other woman simply shrugged, shooting him a look that suggested he ought to scarper while the going was good.
With an awkward bow, the clerk retreated, his footsteps rapidly fading as he scurried away across the courtyard and back into the maze of Last Gate's twisting streets. Aleria watched his departure with a faint smile, feeling a pang of something almost like pity for the poor, bewildered lad.
Aleria turned her attention back to Haddy, the plump woman shifting awkwardly under her scrutinising gaze. Despite her unassuming appearance, there was a forthright earnestness about the younger woman that Aleria found strangely reassuring.
"Well then," Haddy began, clutching her shawl a little tighter. "Shall I give you the tour, milady?"
Without waiting for a response, she bustled forward, leading the way through the vaulted entrance hall. To their left, an open archway revealed a spacious chamber with rows of hard, backless benches lining the walls.
"This here's the waiting area," Haddy proclaimed, making a sweeping gesture to encompass the sparse furnishings. "Used to get right packed out, this room, back when old Perchfoot was practising. Folks came from miles around for his healing."
Aleria's gaze swept over the uninviting benches, her lip curling slightly at the thought of anxious patients huddled together amidst such austere surroundings. Still, she supposed simple practicality was the order of the day in such rustic environs.
Moving on, Haddy led them through a narrow corridor branching off from the waiting room. A series of low doorways lined either side, each one opening into small, cell-like chambers containing little more than a rudimentary wooden pallet mounted on rickety trestles.
"The treatment rooms," Haddy explained, almost apologetically. "Not much to look at, I know, but they served us well enough."
Peering into one of the cramped cubicles, Aleria could well imagine some wretched soul lying upon that crude gurney, their face contorted in pain as they awaited Perchfoot's ministrations. The very thought made her shudder - such primitive conditions would never do, not for the kind of work she had in mind.
They climbed a tight spiral staircase to the clinic's second level, emerging into a dimly-lit gallery overlooking the entrance hall below. A row of closed doors lined the upstairs corridor, each one leading to a tiny sleeping chamber containing just a narrow cot and washbasin.
"For patients requiring more... extended care," Haddy murmured, her normally bubbly tones subdued. "We did what we could for 'em up here, but..." She trailed off with a troubled shake of her head.
Aleria could only nod, her throat tightening as she contemplated the poor souls who must have lingered in these cramped quarters, slowly wasting away despite Perchfoot's best efforts. No, this place would need a great many changes before she could consider it up to par.
At last, they ascended to the topmost floor, Haddy leading the way down a slightly wider hallway with evening sunlight filtering in through the elevated windows. She stopped outside the last door, fumbling with her keyring once more.
"And here we are - your new quarters, milady." The lock released with a solid thunk, and the door swung open to reveal a modestly-sized chamber, the ceiling sloping up towards a small dormer window set into the eaves.
Aleria stepped inside, her boots raising puffs of dust from the bare floor as she surveyed her new lodgings. It was hardly the epitome of luxury, but the room was larger than she'd expected, with adequate space for a simple cot, washstand and writing desk. A small hearth occupied one corner, while an open doorway hinted at some sort of rudimentary kitchen area beyond.
"It's... sufficient," she pronounced at last, turning back to face the hovering Haddy. "I can make do here, until I have the chance to arrange renovations."
The younger woman's face broke into a relieved smile, her shoulders visibly sagging as the tension bled out of her.
"Oh, that's a relief to hear, milady! We'll have this old place feeling like a proper infirmary before you know it..."
Aleria stepped into the centre of the modest chamber, depositing her travel trunk and pack onto the bare floor with a muffled thump. Straightening, she turned to face the hovering Haddy, offering the younger woman a curt nod.
"You have my thanks for showing me to my quarters. I would appreciate the opportunity to rest after my journey, if you would be so kind."
Haddy bobbed her head, hands worrying at the tattered shawl still wrapped about her ample frame. "Of course, milady, of course! Here, let me get you those keys..."
Rummaging in the depths of her apron pocket, she fished out the heavy iron ring, its multitude of keys clinking together as she extended it towards Aleria. Their fingers brushed briefly as the healer accepted the offering, Aleria's grip firm and decisive.
"I'll return on the morrow to assist with opening the clinic," Haddy continued, shuffling backwards towards the open door. "If that's agreeable? I can also bring some bread and broth from my kitchen to break your fast."
Aleria inclined her head once more, her expression unreadable. "That would be most welcome. I shall look forward to your arrival."
Bobbing another small curtsy, Haddy retreated into the dimly-lit corridor beyond, pulling the door closed behind her with a dull thud. The sound of her retreating footsteps gradually faded, swallowed by the pervasive silence that seemed to envelop the entire building.
Alone at last, Aleria turned in a slow circle, surveying her modest new domain with a critical eye. It was hardly the lap of luxury, but she had endured far worse conditions during the war.
Crossing to the small window, she pulled back the tattered curtain to gaze out over the darkening rooftops of Last Gate. The town seemed to hunker low against the encroaching twilight, a ramshackle sprawl of makeshift dwellings and half-repaired structures.
Her grip tightened on the curtain's frayed edge as her gaze drifted towards the horizon, where the last bloody rays of sunset bled away into inky shadows. Out there, amidst that vast gloom, lay the shattered remnants of The Demon King's domain - The Dead Lands, as they were now known.
A place she had hoped never to revisit, after the horrors she had witnessed during the long, bitter years of The Demon War. And yet here she was, almost within a stone's throw of that blighted territory once more. The cruel vagaries of fate seemed to mock her at every turn.
A dark scowl settled over her features as memories bubbled up, unbidden - the cloying stench of scorched flesh and burned sulphur, the deafening clash of steel against corded muscle and gnashing fangs, the shrill, keening cries of the wounded and dying as they fell beneath her blades, their corrupted blood splattering the—
With an abrupt shake of her head, Aleria banished the unwanted recollections, her jaw clenched so tightly her teeth ached. Those days were behind her now, she reminded herself sternly. A new path lay before her - one of healing, of atonement for the grim necessities of her former life.
Turning away from the window, she busied herself with unpacking her meagre belongings, arranging them with crisp efficiency in the corners of the chamber.
Aleria pulled the leather strap holding her bedroll and unwound the tightly-bound bundle, letting it unfurl onto the narrow cot with a soft whump. Eyeing the questionable sheets and coverlet already adorning the rickety bed frame, she decided against using Perchfoot's old linens. Who knew what unsavoury remnants might still linger there from the halfling's tenure?
Perching on the edge of the bare mattress, she bent to unlace her sturdy leather boots, tugging them off with a weary sigh. Her stockinged feet already felt refreshed, freed from the sweat-stained confines of her travelling footwear. Next came her hardened leather breeches, shucked down over her hips and calves before being kicked aside in an unceremonious heap.
Finally, she grasped the hem of her linen blouse and pulled it up over her head in one smooth motion, tossing the crumpled garment atop the discarded trousers. Clad now in just her simple smallclothes, Aleria ran an absent hand through her tousled auburn locks.
She laid back onto the bed, the thin mattress yielding beneath her weight with a protesting creak. One hand strayed, as always, instinctively to the iron pendant resting between her breasts. Her fingers traced the grooved patterns absently as she stared up at the sloping ceiling, following the shapes like a solitary spider spinning its gossamer web in the shadowed eaves.
Closing her eyes, she willed her mind to stillness, beckoning the blessed oblivion of sleep to claim her at last. Yet even as her breathing slowed and her muscles gradually unlocked, a nagging tendril of tension wound its way through her subconscious.
At last, Aleria surrendered to the leaden weight pressing down upon her. Her fingers fell away from the talisman as her arm went slack, the cold pendant clattering softly against her breastbone. Uneasy darkness taking her.