ALBION (HUMAN)

Salina and Groboln instinctively move closer to me, almost as if by reflex, as the tension escalates. The soldiers under Commander Eldan form up, shields raised, ready to deflect an attack that seems more and more inevitable. The air is heavy, thick with threats and palpable hostility. The dwarves remain motionless, planted firmly in place, their axes and hammers adorned with glowing runes, gleaming like flames barely contained.

I can already tell this isn’t going to end well. That bastard Inquisitor, Kael Margonos, is provoking the dwarves. Why? Why do they always have to pour fuel on the fire? As hunters, we know better than to provoke these small creatures. Dwarves are proud, vengeful, and most of all, dangerous. Even outnumbered, they could decimate a weakened column like ours if they decided to strike first.

I have no desire to fight. Not after everything we’ve been through. The battle with the mutated troll among the debris already drained our morale and strength. Too many of us are exhausted. Even though I’m still standing, my muscles protest with every movement. The last thing we need is another fight.

Eldan, visibly under pressure, is surrounded by his officers. They’re murmuring in his ear, some almost shouting directives, suggestions. He hesitates, clearly uncomfortable. From a distance, I can’t help but think he’s out of his depth. Why was this guy appointed by the king? He’s no leader of men. He spends more time walking on eggshells than making decisions. A coward, that’s what he is.

Finally, he steps forward, reluctantly, toward the dwarves and Kael. His gait is stiff, almost trembling. He’s got a problem with dwarves; that much is clear. Maybe a trauma? He seems incapable of looking them in the eye without flinching. Meanwhile, the Grand Inquisitor stays in the background, cold and calculating, but his eyes shine with a dangerous glint. The two men exchange words I can’t hear, but everything about their posture and tone screams tension.

Then, suddenly, Eldan’s voice rises, clear and strong, carrying through the clearing:

“The official army of the Kingdom of Elbak and the conscripted adventurers will NOT engage in direct armed conflict with the dwarves, except by explicit orders from the King. We do not answer for the Inquisition, Kael. If your order wants a war, that’s your choice.”

An icy silence follows those words. Eldan has made his decision, though not in the way Kael had hoped, and it’s evident the Inquisitor is seething. Eldan’s officers immediately bark orders to reform the ranks and prepare for a retreat. The tension remains thick, but it seems a direct confrontation has been averted. I allow myself to relax slightly, a small sigh of relief escaping me.

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I can’t help but think, “All that, for this?”

Next to me, Groboln pulls a disgusted face, muttering to himself:

“I hope we still get the gold they promised.”

To that, Lyrel, the elf I’ve spent the morning trying to charm, responds in her usual teasing tone:

“Don’t count on it, big guy. We didn’t even see the dragon.”

Her smile pulls a chuckle from me despite myself, but Salina, ever the pragmatist, is about to reply when an officer strides past, looking irritated:

“You three, follow the rest of the group. We’re heading back north. Move it!”

We have no choice. The order is clear. We’re going to have to trek back through this enormous debris field. I exhale, glancing up at the sky. The shifting bands of light move slowly; midday has passed. Soon, the trees will give way once more to the scarred and scorched plains. All we can do is hope that no new abomination swoops down on us.

The stark divide between forest and debris reminds me of how alien and incomprehensible this place has become. I’m not even sure what we came here to find anymore, but one thing is certain: the forest has changed.

As we start marching, my thoughts wander. I watch the soldiers reorganize, tired but disciplined, and the adventurers, like me, following out of necessity rather than loyalty. I wonder if we’ll make it to Benamire before nightfall. With how slow our progress is and the state of some in the column, I strongly doubt it. Salina, Groboln, and Lyrel still have the energy to joke around. I think she’s finding her place in the group; a faint smile crosses my face.

We’re not the only group. Around me, murmurs resume. Soldiers talk amongst themselves, discussing what just happened. The adventurers share their thoughts about the dwarves, some showing respect, others openly disdainful. I stay silent. I’ve rarely seen dwarves before. My mind drifts back to the confrontation, to Kael, to Eldan, and especially to those small, rune-clad men. What is their goal? To claim new lands, the dragon, the debris? This forest belongs to no one, yet everyone seems eager to stake their claim.

I glance at Lyrel, walking slightly ahead. Her pointed ears twitch at every noise. I find it endearing. I've never slept with an elf before. I move closer to her.

“Do you stay in Benamire, Lyrel?” I ask.

“No, I was in Pontoven when the conscription notice came,” she replies, stepping closer to me.

“Why? Do you want me to stay with you?” she teases.

I keep the playful tone. “Why not?”

She laughs. “Why not!”

Groboln, the ever jealous and cynic mage, interrupts, "So, Lyrel, you have no group for the moment ? Why is that?"

Lyrel looks more serious ; not that she's vexed or anything, but she just drops the teasing tone.

"Yeah, alone for now. It’s a long story, but let’s just say I was with other elves, and, well, they left Elbak"

"And you stayed." Notices sharply the old man, I decide to joke on him.

"No, she left too. What you're seeing is just her ghost!"

I can't help to be eager we leave this place, even tho we joke, it's creeping me.