Across the wide world, there were countless breeds of man. Humans had coexisted with common races like elves, goblins, and trolls for as long as most could remember. Even demons were among the masses without malice. Every Elm touched, at a time, had their own unique knowledge that made them more than allies to humanity. They were saviors.
Before Lady Ellenore returned to take up the Iron Heart, she had spent years unearthing the special skills of Elm touched people.
At the age of 22 cycles, her journey began. Ellenore’s fascination with magic had transformed from a modest interest to a regular obsession. Though her knowledge of practical magic had yet to progress significantly, rumors of her hobby had spread.
Right when her father's company was starting to make strides, she expressed her desire to travel the world. She persuaded him to allow her dream of rediscovering lost magics to become a reality. Most of Cog City thought she was mad. After all, who would wish to leave the comforts of her father's budding achievements? They were not royal, yet they had grown to have prestige and name recognition. Ellenore, however, was delighted to escape. Her father could have refused her, and many would have thought his decision was sensible. No one could say for certain why he allowed his only heir to dive further into fields that he continued to cull. Irrespective of the motive, the exceptional pioneer wouldn't let his child depart without proper deliberation.
He had a single condition Ellenore had to meet before she could go on her expedition. If the Lady wished to leave Cog City to embark on a "fruitless" mission, she had to take a personal guard.
“They bore me.”
“They aren’t meant to entertain, miss.”
“Must they be so bland?”
“These are the best your father can afford.”
At the Sheridan estate, seated at the morning table, Ellenore searched through brief after brief on men of great merits, but none held her eye for more than a glance. While she made a mess of papers, her closest house maid stood at the kitchen island, sipping from a cup of tea.
Every day, for nearly a month, an average of fifty men applied for the opportunity to serve the daughter of a brilliant innovator, but Ell couldn’t find one who fit her mission.
“Why are they all human?” She asked.
“Would you not prefer one of us to join you on your journey, miss?” The maid, Rachel, questioned what she already knew, but time and time again refused to acknowledge.
Much like the kitchen that had been fitted with gadgets and plenty, Rachel had a difficult time understanding her lady’s unusual way of operating. The entire Sheridan estate had been worked over down to the overly complex doors between rooms by Ellenore’s father. His intention was to craft a home of efficiency and ease, but to anyone but himself and Ell, it was a convoluted place. The staff that worked the grounds often spent more time in lost confusion than productive service. How the maid managed a pot of tea without harming herself was a feat worthy of praise.
“I aim to become a witch, not a woman in the window. Where are the men with experience facing dragons, hydra, threats of Elm’s darker half?” Ell asked after pushing the applications away from herself.
There hadn’t been a new witch in ages. Magic hadn’t yet been passed over, but it had grown into a niche art. Few were skilled enough to consider students of the craft since the creation of new spells had slowed for technology to boom.
“There hasn’t been a wild dragon since my mother’s time. Dark Elms don’t break the iron streets like they used to,” Rachel remarked and joined her lady at the table to glance over the day’s discarded men.
Her eyes fluttered at photos of men Ellenore had so coldly dismissed.
“Perhaps, but my aim is to learn great magics. I need someone who’ll, at the least, respect the craft.”
“The touched may know magic, but will they respect a woman of your standing as one of us would?”
“Why wouldn’t they,” Ell said, standing from her seat and taking up her coat to leave.
Meanwhile, in a place beneath the city far from daylight, news of Lady Ellenore had spread to an alehouse run by the local Hord.
“It’s simple. I’ll escort the lady out of the city. Once we're far enough, I'll put her somewhere safe. When it's good, I'll return to inform everyone she’s been abducted. Give it a few weeks, and you'll bring her back. We'll split the reward of a hero. No one will be the wiser.”
“Won't they hang you for losing the bitch?”
The unregistered establishment, with its copper walls turned green by rust, was a watering hole to the city’s Elm touched who had found a life of scheme and lies. That morning, bodies were scarce, aside from the elves, planning their next endeavor. Of course, the barman, a blue-skinned troll of great stature, lithe frame, and wild red hair, stood at his post. Cleaning his long station while there was time to spare, he wasn’t alone in listening to the elves’ plotting. Vilk, on the other side of the bar, sat with a drink in hand and an ear turned.
“They’re fools. A girl like that ain’t taking a kid who’s never held an honest occupation. And she ain’t taking an Elm touched, her father would see to that,” the goblin remarked to his friend.
“I hear the lady has a taste for us pointed ears,” Larimer, the barman, said while topping off his company’s drink of ale from one of the many barrels stacked from floor to ceiling.
Early morning, for some, was simply the latest of nights to some like Vilk who worked without watching time.
“Her father don’t,” the goblin quipped when given his mug.
“Her father built all of Pin Town before raising his factory. He don’t hold bad blood for us,” Larimer suggested.
“He will after they kidnap his daughter?” Vilk said before taking a sip of his drink then adding, “fools.”
The troll could only shake his head at his friend’s pessimistic outlook.
“Least those two are thinking. Haven’t seen you take on a job in two cycles.”
“I haven’t found the right job,” Vilk said, turning in his seat to pay closer attention to the elves in the room's corner.
The young elms celebrated what they assumed would be an easy plot, and Vilk had jealousy over their naïve hope. It blistered.
“I pay my dues like everyone else. Never late either,” he added, but Larimer, leaning over the bar with curiosity, asked, “How is that? You don’t take jobs, but you always pay your dues. What is it that you do, Vilk?”
The goblin finished his drink before dropping from his seat. The slate floor was wet under his bare feet. “Have you ever thought of doing something else?” He asked, turning to look up at the troll without giving an answer.
Larimer knew better than to pry into other’s business. While the Hord was a family, its members were under no obligation to be forthcoming. As the barkeep, his duty was to serve and organize. Still, he thought Vilk would be honest. Had they not known one another for cycles old as Pin Town? Had they not known one another since before the troll took up his position? Perhaps then he should have known Vilk never spoke unless he wished to.
“I might have, at a time, but humans don’t want to see elms making their drink no more. They don’t smile when we sing songs. They dont care for us on their streets or taking up beds. Our kind used to be all that stood between them and darker elms. Without dragons to slay, guess we're starting to look like monsters, ain't we? The Hord is all we’ve got left, even if it only lives a few breaths longer,” Larimer answered.
Vilk, with ale in his gut, might have allowed his tongue to move, but a couple of drinks weren’t enough to loosen his lips. Placing a few sheets of printed currency on the bar, he nodded to his friend and departed.
Across the wide world, there were countless breeds of man. Humans had coexisted with common races like elves, goblins, and trolls for as long as most could remember. Even demons were among the masses without malice. Every Elm touched, at a time, had their own unique knowledge that made them more than allies to humanity. They were saviors.
If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
Before Lady Ellenore returned to take up the Iron Heart, she had spent years unearthing the special skills of Elm touched people.
At the age of 22 cycles, her journey began. Ellenore’s fascination with magic had transformed from a modest interest to a regular obsession. Though her knowledge of practical magic had yet to progress significantly, rumors of her hobby had spread.
Right when her father's company was starting to make strides, she expressed her desire to travel the world. She persuaded him to allow her dream of rediscovering lost magics to become a reality. Most of Cog City thought she was mad. After all, who would wish to leave the comforts of her father's budding achievements? They were not royal, yet they had grown to have prestige and name recognition. Ellenore, however, was delighted to escape. Her father could have refused her, and many would have thought his decision was sensible. No one could say for certain why he allowed his only heir to dive further into fields that he continued to cull. Irrespective of the motive, the exceptional pioneer wouldn't let his child depart without proper deliberation.
He had a single condition Ellenore had to meet before she could go on her expedition. If the Lady wished to leave Cog City to embark on a "fruitless" mission, she had to take a personal guard.
“They bore me.”
“They aren’t meant to entertain, Ms.”
“Must they be so bland?”
“These are the best your father can afford.”
At the Sheridan estate, seated at the morning table, Ellenore searched through brief after brief on men of great merits, but none held her eye for more than a glance. While she made a mess of papers, her closest house maid stood at the kitchen island, sipping from a cup of tea.
Every day, for nearly a month, an average of fifty men applied for the opportunity to serve the daughter of a brilliant innovator, but Ell couldn’t find one who fit her mission.
“Why are they all human?” She asked.
“Would you not prefer one of us to join you on your journey, Ms?” The maid, Rachel, questioned what she already knew, but time and time again refused to acknowledge.
Much like the kitchen that had been fitted with gadgets and plenty, Rachel had a difficult time understanding her lady’s unusual way of operating. The entire Sheridan estate had been worked over down to the overly complex doors between rooms by Ellenore’s father. His intention was to craft a home of efficiency and ease, but to anyone but himself and Ell, it was a convoluted place. The staff that worked the grounds often spent more time in lost confusion than productive service. How the maid managed a pot of tea without harming herself was a feat worthy of praise.
“I aim to become a witch, not a woman in the window. Where are the men with experience facing dragons, hydra, threats of Elm’s darker half?” Ell asked after pushing the applications away from herself.
There hadn’t been a new witch in ages. Magic hadn’t yet been passed over, but it had grown into a niche art. Few were skilled enough to consider students of the craft since the creation of new spells had slowed for technology to boom.
“There hasn’t been a wild dragon since my mother’s time. Dark Elms don’t break the iron streets like they used to,” Rachel remarked and joined her lady at the table to glance over the day’s discarded men.
Her eyes fluttered at photos of men Ellenore had so coldly dismissed.
“Perhaps, but my aim is to learn great magics. I need someone who’ll, at the least, respect the craft.”
“The touched may know magic, but will they respect a woman of your standing as one of us would?”
“Why wouldn’t they,” Ell said, standing from her seat and taking up her coat to leave.
Meanwhile, in a place beneath the city far from daylight, news of Lady Ellenore had spread to an alehouse run by the local Horde.
“It’s simple. I’ll escort the lady out of the city. Once we're far enough, I'll put her somewhere safe. When it's good, I'll return to inform everyone she’s been abducted. Give it a few weeks, and you'll bring her back. We'll split the reward of a hero. No one will be the wiser.”
“Won't they hang you for losing the bitch?”
The unregistered establishment, with its copper walls turned green by rust, was a watering hole to the city’s Elm touched who had found a life of scheme and lies. That morning, bodies were scarce, aside from the elves, planning their next endeavor. Of course, the barman, a blue-skinned troll of great stature, lithe frame, and wild red hair, stood at his post. Cleaning his long station while there was time to spare, he wasn’t alone in listening to the elves’ plotting. Vilk, on the other side of the bar, sat with a drink in hand and an ear turned.
“They’re fools. A girl like that ain’t taking a kid who’s never held an honest occupation. And she ain’t taking an Elm touched, her father would see to that,” the goblin remarked to his friend.
“I hear the lady has a taste for us pointed ears,” Larimer, the barman, said while topping off his company’s drink of ale from one of the many barrels stacked from floor to ceiling.
Early morning, for some, was simply the latest of nights to others like Vilk, who worked without watching time.
“Her father don’t,” the goblin quipped when given his mug.
“Her father built all of Pin Town before raising his factory. He don’t hold bad blood for us,” Larimer suggested.
“He will after they kidnap his daughter?” Vilk said before taking a sip of his drink, then adding, “fools.”
The troll could only shake his head at his friend’s pessimistic outlook.
“Least those two are thinking. Haven’t seen you take on a job in two cycles.”
“Haven’t found the right job,” Vilk said, turning in his seat to pay closer attention to the elves in the room's corner.
The young elms celebrated what they assumed would be an easy plot, and Vilk held jealousy over their naïve hope. It blistered.
“I pay my dues like everyone else. Never late either,” he added, but Larimer, leaning over the bar with curiosity, asked, “How is that? You don’t take jobs, but you always pay your dues. What is it that you do, Vilk?”
The goblin finished his drink before dropping from his seat. The slate floor was wet under his bare feet. “Have you ever thought of doing something else?” He asked, turning to look up at the troll without giving an answer.
Larimer knew better than to pry into other’s business. While the Horde was a family, its members were under no obligation to be forthcoming. As the barkeep, his duty was to serve and organize. Still, he thought Vilk would be honest. Had they not known one another for cycles old as Pin Town? Had they not known one another since before the troll took up his position? Perhaps then he should have known Vilk never spoke unless he wished to.
“I might have, at a time, but humans don’t want to see elms making their drink no more. They don’t smile when we sing songs. They dont care for us on their streets or taking up beds. Our kind used to be all that stood between them and darker elms. Without dragons to slay, guess we're starting to look like monsters, ain't we? The Horde is all we’ve got left, even if it only lives a few breaths longer,” Larimer answered.
Vilk, with ale in his gut, might have allowed his tongue to move, but a couple of drinks weren’t enough to loosen his lips. Placing a few sheets of printed currency on the bar, he nodded to his friend and departed.