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0.7
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Basil woke up with a nasty headache.
That alone wasn’t unusual.
He’d often work on his art until falling asleep face first on whatever surface he happened to be leaning on while working, so headaches and migraines from sleeping in awkward positions were a very common occurrence. The fact he’d walk around the village with paint blotches on his face was enough of a hallmark that nobody blinked after a straight decade of him doing it.
But this wasn’t that.
This felt a bit different.
‘Did I fall asleep again?’
Trying to recall whatever memories he could summon up through the pounding headache, Basil sat up with a wince, the side of his temple feeling like someone had bashed his face against a petrified tree until they were sure the tree was, indeed, petrified. The pounding was strong enough that he almost went back to sleep.
But, well, he was a bit stubborn.
‘What was I doing here?’ He tried to recall.
He remembered the morning well enough. He was painting, he got frustrated and decided to take watch duty for the night. Getting his mind off things by doing a little bit of side work never hurt him before. And he’d hoped that the different sights would help him recover some of his inspiration.
Then… what?
He remembered standing around, talking to some of the other guards and scouts passing by. Normal stuff.
Then… was there someone else?
A visitor?
Looking around the room, Basil could see the faint traces of another’s mana in the air. A faint aquamarine that mingled with his own lemon yellow. Not nearly as much of it, though, meaning that whoever was here, hadn’t been around for as long. And the shade was familiar enough to juggle his mostly asleep mind.
‘Hemlock? What’s he doing here?’
The guy was a hermit.
And he meant that with all respect. Acting like a sage when he was barely older than Basil and others of their generation, he seemed perfectly content most of the time to be by himself or do his own studies, so it was rare to see the man interact with anyone other than perhaps the physicians or biologists.
Basil, being an artist, hardly saw or talked to him.
‘Guess everyone needs a walk every now and again.’
Standing up, the young elf clutched the side of his head.
There was something else he was forgetting. He left the outpost to greet Hemlock and then… someone else? He knew the man didn’t come back alone but for some reason he couldn’t recall all the details.
Looming over a table next to the couch where he’d been laid onto, Basil let out a small smile as he saw a small cup of tea laying next to them. It was slightly steaming, and the smell was delightful.
He never smelled that kind of tea before.
“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you.’
Standing at the door was Hemlock.
Just as he remembered him. The older elf hadn’t changed much since he went through the rites of adulthood. Most would say there was barely a difference between the present him and the current one, outside of his penchant for disappearing a few days every few years. Pale blond hair, unlike Basil’s tinted light blood one, the older elf carried with him a small tray with a few rations and a fresh pot of tea.
“Why’s that?”
He took another whiff of the tea he’d been left with.
“That’s poison ivy.”
And instantly pushed it away.
“Why?”
The older elf chuckled, a far cry from his usual… withdrawn demeanor.
“Our guest has a way of mistaking one leaf for another I’m afraid.”
Guest?
“There’s someone else here?” He hadn’t seen anyone else’s mana. Just the two of theirs. Then again, if they just got there then maybe they hadn’t been to the main room yet, so their mana wouldn’t be visible.
Hemlock rolled his eyes.
“Yes, well. I told him to sit down and rest too but he was adamant about trying to make some tea. Poor fella’s been trying to brew a proper batch since we got here, and well… he keeps using poison ivy for some reason. I doubt he even realizes it.”
Basil snorted out a laugh.
“Really?”
“I’ve tossed out the batch he made, but he keeps wandering off and picking more poison ivy. I think he just likes the smell of it.” Tossing the contents of the tea cup out the window, Hemlock poured the two of them fresh cups, the smell not as sickly sweet as before. Almost enervating in a way.
“What happened, anyway. Did something hit me?”
“In a way, yes. We just arrived and you fell ill on the spot. Quite the unpleasant feeling I imagine. I wanted to run for the hills the first time I got a face full of that human’s… presence.”
Human?
"What 's that?”
“Our guest, of course. Takes a little while getting used to it, but he was terribly sorry that you fainted. Haven’t left the kitchen to make sure you wouldn’t fall ill again as soon as you got up.”
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It came back to Basil in a rush.
The horrible feeling of looking at a void. Something that by all rights should be dead, walking in broad daylight. Just the faint recollection sending chills down his spine.
“Yes, precisely like that. I too had an… adverse reaction to it.”
That was putting it mildly.
And more importantly.
“You brought that thing here?” He hissed under his breath.
“A person, not a thing. We should not judge our guest for something he cannot control, after all.” Hemlock gave him a stern look, different from his usual less that amused expressions. Now he looked reproachful, enough that for a moment Basil thought he might be speaking with a completely different person.
There was a knock on the door.
“Ah, that should be him.”
Basil felt his stomach drop. He didn’t want a repeat.
“Close your eyes if you must. It’s bound to be less dizzying now but we’d better make sure.”
Basil considered it, but found being coddled too much for his youthful pride. He was only caught unawares, after all. And besides, something as uniquely terrifying as this was bound to stoke the fires of creativity within him. So with some trepidation, the young man kept his eyes wide open as another figure walked through the door.
“Eartips, how much do elves actually eat?”
His senior snorted.
“No less than a human, I’d imagine. Though I’m starting to suspect that might not be the case for your folks, Mr. Ghoti.”
The suit of armor shrugged.
“Well, I figured you’d wanna have a little something after all that running around we did and the kid didn’t look all that well either.”
Basil took exception to the comment on his age.
He was nearly one hundred. Almost an adult!
The… man was carrying a larger tray, one filled to the brim with rations he likely pilfered from the kitchen, piled on top of each other, and the food wasn’t… good. They were meant to last long and fill you enough that you could skip a couple meals if you were in a hurry, in fact, Basil was sure the one who made the rations spent nearly fifty years trying to perfect the recipe before showing it to the guards.
Dried meat and fruit.
Simple bread.
A few cheeses.
He’d heard from one of his friends that the more mana something had, the faster it spoiled once it was cooked. Which was… well… it made sense. If mana was something only the living were meant to have, then of course once something died, the amount would decrease until it spoiled and became unpalatable.
Elvish rations, however, could go a decade before spoiling.
Even if they were… tasteless.
Too little mana to actually count as a meal.
So it came as a surprise to him that the man in armor seemed to have no problem at all popping them into his mouth, sighing in contentment as if the low-quality rations were the most appetizing delicacy he had ever tasted.
‘How… is he eating through the helmet?’
It was… hard to look at him.
Like something that both was and wasn’t there, but it didn’t garner as strong a reaction as the last time. He could make out better details, the faint outline of the body beneath the armor, even if it still looked like he was faded and colorless, it didn’t make Basil’s head hurt as much to look now that he knew what to expect.
The man’s eating actually helped.
Basil could focus on the faint specks of mana preserved in the rations. Brief sparks of light illuminated the body beneath the armor for scant moments.
“Do you reckon we’re far from that village of yours, Eartips?”
Basil almost choked on his tea.
If he laughed now, the older elf was likely to get cross with him.
“Not that much further, barely an hour's walk from here. I sent a message ahead to warn them of what’s transpired, so it would be for the best if we stayed put for now. The guard will want to know the details about our encounter with the Mana Beast.”
M-Mana Beast?
What was something that dangerous doing around here?!
“Ah, isn’t that a bit too much effort for that oversized pig?”
Basil listened intently, there wasn’t much he could add to the conversation, but he could listen and learn.
“I do remind you that the creature very nearly killed us, Mr. Ghoti. It would do us well not to underestimate it just because you managed to survive an encounter.” That was unusual. Well, it wasn’t unheard of for someone to find and escape from a Mana Beast, the creatures were still animalistic in nature and often didn’t hunt.
Why hunt when every fiber of their beings was filled with mana?
But this was the first time he heard of one so close to Pineskeep.
“So we just wait until your folks come out here to find us?”
The older elf shrugged.
“I did not wish to risk leaving the Young One alone.”
Said ‘young one’ rolled his eyes.
Typical. You’re barely one year away from adulthood, and people still treat you like you’d drink whole milk from a bottle.
He may have been young, but he wasn’t helpless.
The stranger seemed to agree with him.
“How old are you?”
“Ninety Nine. I’ll be an adult this year.” Basil puffed up his chest in pride.
“One hundred years for adulthood. Where I come from, it’s as soon as you can start working. My parents already considered me an adult when I was 13, had me running errands, running back and forth between the farm and the village.”
The two elves sputtered.
Thirteen? That was barely out of the crib!
“You can’t be serious. How long do you guys live?” Basil couldn’t hold back from asking.
“Hmm. Depends on where you live. Some never leave the crib if their circumstances are bad enough. Entire villages could be destroyed by famine or plague, or monsters. If you were born lucky, or in a protected area, maybe you can live to see your seventies. Soldiers seldom live to their fifties. Heroes even less so. I’ve only heard of one person to make it past 100, and he’s a freak of nature.”
That was… horrible.
Only one to ever reach a hundred years?
Basil couldn’t imagine how short a life that must be. He’d yet to be given leave to travel, but he’d only heard tales about the other clans. He’d never felt the need to ask about them, figuring he’d learn about them from the source.
Maybe they’d serve better as inspiration that way.
It was sobering, in a way.
Hemlock didn’t seem surprised. He’d likely interacted with other clans. Even then, he looked at their guest in quiet apprehension.
“Hey now, you guys don’t need to look at me like I’m gonna fall apart or anything. I’m plenty young. You people are all a bunch of old man.” He laughed awkwardly at his own joke before his stomach growled.
He stood up hurriedly.
“Ehehe. You guys happen to know where I could find a restroom?”
Basil pointed to the hallway leading to the other side of the outpost, blinking in surprise as the man dashed down the door.
What a strange man.