Persepera

The 16th of Thargelion

The Year 4631 in the Era of Mortals

Lyssa emerged from the mine weary but triumphant. Nothing in Tartarus was sweeter than the thought of bath and bed, but one matter was worth attending to first. Odelia stood on a stool, in the middle of a complicated spellcast, when Lyssa walked into the planning tent. Rather than risk disrupting the spell, she stood off to one side, watching the halfling woman work.

Grimmolt laid on a table, barely breathing. His armor and shirt had been removed, revealing a thick, hairy chest that somewhat obscured the horrible bruising and lumpy protrusions of broken bones up and down the dwarf’s torso. Lyssa didn’t avert her eyes from the sight, but she was careful not to let her looking turn into staring. Even small acts could have large effects. Magic was a tricky business and she wanted no part in disrupting it.

The spell’s light faded and the small woman gasped a ragged breath. She was drenched in sweat, as though having run a great distance on her short legs. Lyssa stepped forward, not quite sure what to say but not wanting to startle the healer. Her fears were unfounded as Odelia did not react, even as Lyssa moved to examine Grimmolt. The bruising on the dwarf’s chest and side remained but the bones there were no longer misshapen.

“Will he live?”

Odelia waited to catch her breath before responding.

“Yes. Though he will be in pain. Without someone to mix the proper potions, there is little I can do for that.”

“He will be glad, I think, for some pain. It will give him something to grip while he comes to terms with what has happened.”

“Is the beast dead?” Odelia met her eyes.

“By my hand.”

“And the others?”

“Uninjured. The plan was sound.”

“Good.” Odelia carefully climbed down from the chair and rubbed her eyes. “Normally, I would request an escort back to the village, but I need some time to recover. Is there somewhere I can rest?”

Lyssa thought about it before replying.

“I can instruct the dwarves to make this area more accommodating, if you would like.”

Odelia nodded.

“Nothing fancy. A soft chair or a cushion will do. I’m not used to staying up through the night.”

Lyssa moved to the opening of a tent and flagged down a nearby dwarf. After a quick exchange, the dwarf returned, bringing a small, wooden bed with a feather mattress wrapped in a soft sheet. Odelia thanked the dwarf before testing out the mattress for herself.

“You seem different than before, if you don’t mind my saying so,” the halfling said, her eyes closed.

Lyssa cocked her head.

“What do you mean?”

“You were reserved, in the Vivitorium. Quiet. You seem less so, now.”

“I was in less familiar territory. Caution was prudent.”

“There may be some truth to that. I have seen you when lives are at stake. Caution is not a word I would use to describe you during such times.”

Lyssa’s mouth tugged sideways into a facsimile of a smile.

“Perhaps. When death is near, there is little time for second thoughts. Hesitation may cost unnecessary lives and that is not a sacrifice I am willing to make.”

“Indeed.” Odelia’s voice grew soft and distant. “A leader must be swift to act.”

Lyssa looked over the unconscious form of Grimmolt, feeling a spark of annoyance.

“Everyone knows what a leader must be. Few, however, rise to meet that ideal.”

Odelia offered no response; she’d fallen asleep. Lyssa left the tent and stepped out into the bright light of mid-morning. Weariness sank into her marrow. Sleep was a wish, a dearest desire, but ever out of reach. If she started now, she might get back to Myriatos and her bed before the midday meal.

Exhausted — Tier 1

-50% Vitals Regeneration

+15% Chance to make Mistakes

+50% Stamina Drain of Physical Tasks

Lyssa cursed beneath her breath. It wasn’t unexpected, but it was frustrating, nonetheless. She turned, intending to head for the rough path leading down the mountain, and found herself face-to-face with a set of angry, brown eyes.

“Elpida,” she said, her voice thick with surprise. “What are you doing here?”

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Elpida’s face, normally an impassive mask, was struggling to keep up a casual veneer. It twisted, roiling with emotions too strange and human to identify.

“I heard what happened. I came to see if you were…” Elpida clenched her teeth shut, her fists opening and closing as she started again. “I came to see if you needed anything from me.”

“I’m uninjured. But there were others who were not so lucky. Three dwarves were killed and Grimmolt suffered grave injuries.”

“You look tired.” A strange look appeared in her eyes before she blinked and added, “Archousa.”

A moment of vulnerability passed between them and was gone. Like a candle snuffed beneath a douser, Elpida composed herself. Her face slid back into the familiar mask of impassivity and her eyes grew guarded once more. The transition was as sudden as it was jarring and Lyssa frowned in response.

“What are your orders?”

Lyssa didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she watched other woman carefully for any sign or explanation.

“Walk with me.”

Lyssa turned on her heel and headed toward the mine, any last hope of beds or baths withered and died. Elpida fell into lockstep beside her but made no further attempt at conversation. Lyssa, for her part, was fine with the silence, as her Exhaustion had swelled her minor headache into a sharp, pulsing pain that coursed through the entire right side of her head. She wished for sleep, might even have begged for it, but there was always something to do first. They entered the mine, passing two guards stationed outside, one keeping an eye on the dark interior while the other watched the camp. Both saluted, which Lyssa and Elpida returned.

Once into the mine itself, Elpida’s surefooted gait grew uncertain and she had to press one hand against the wall for guidance. Lyssa frowned, then realized the issue.

“You can light a torch, if you need to. The dwarves have made no mention of coal.”

Instead of a torch, Elpida produced a large broach and pinned it to a strip of fabric over her shoulder armor. With a whispered word, the broach glowed, shining dim, blue light in front of her for a space of about three meters.

“Impressive,” Lyssa said, brows arched.

“It comes in handy,” Elpida replied. “Coal or no, you never know if the air is combustible. Are you going to tell me what we’re doing here or would you prefer me to start guessing?”

“Investigating. There’s more going on here than the eye can see.”

“How do you mean?”

“A basilisk sealed away inside the mountain? It doesn’t make sense. How did it get there? What has it been eating? The dwarves mentioned the attack occurred after they found a natural cave system and what little I saw seems to corroborate that, but I have a bad feeling that I want to get to the bottom of.”

Elpida twisted as she turned a corner, turning her face and broach away from Lyssa.

“And, naturally, you’re doing all of this before getting the rest you need?”

Lyssa clenched her jaw. She knew she needed rest, she wanted it badly, but the village’s safety was at stake. Someone had to figure out what was going on.

“I’m fine – and will be for a while yet.”

“Barely functioning isn’t optimal. What’s your Exhaustion?”

“Tier one.”

“And you’re jumping headlong into danger again. What if there’s another basilisk? What if we run into something else?”

Lyssa felt her lips pull back over her teeth and had to fight to keep her voice from snapping.

“I am aware of the risks. Do not think that I am walking meekly to my death. If the long dark scares you, then return. I intend to have my questions answered and I will do what it takes to reach that end.”

Elpida turned toward Lyssa, her own eyes flashing with anger.

“What, abandon you like—” she shut her jaw halfway through the sentence with an audible clack, biting off whatever words were coming next.

Lyssa stopped and stared at the other woman, unflinching.

“Finish it.”

Elpida didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she held Lyssa’s eye for several long seconds before spitting the words like rotten food.

“Abandon you like you abandoned me?”

A half dozen angry replies died on Lyssa’s tongue, replaced by absolute confusion. She thought back to their interactions. The quiet conversations, the shared meals, the occasional hunting trip. The look Elpida had when Lyssa had returned from the forest with Vik. The anger and forced impassivity that had welled up in Elpida since. The fury that had come when Lyssa dissolved her personal guard.

Laid out before her, it was almost simple. The magnitude of the miscommunication was staggering. She didn’t know where to begin. Elpida, however, seemed to take the silence as a guilty admission, because she continued onward.

“I’m not an elf. I can’t change that. If I’m not the person you need, just tell me. I’ll leave, for both our sakes. Don’t just reassign me because you don’t like my company. I deserve more than a quiet dismissal.” Halfway through, Elpida’s anger boiled away, revealing the pain beneath.

Still, she held Lyssa’s eye. Brown eyes and green searched one another for answers to questions not quite voiced.

“Two hundred years of life and I have never known so little,” Lyssa breathed. “Nothing I did was ever intended to punish you. Nothing I said was meant to reproach. I did not take your thoughts into account for my decisions and that was my mistake. I’m sorry.”

Elpida’s normally hard face held more vulnerability than Lyssa had ever seen there. There was a want bordering on need. A passion buried beneath a shroud of professionalism and discipline. But to what end?

“Then tell me plainly. Here and now and onward still. If you want me, I am with you. But say you don’t and I will leave. I won’t waste my life on a happiness forever out of my reach.”

Lyssa’s breath caught in her throat. The pain in her head pulsed, angry and red. Every interaction they had shared in the last two months sprang into her mind. Elpida’s quiet, calculating manner, her swift evaluation of everyone she met, the way she had stomped through the woods while learning how to sneak with such a grim expression on her face.

But the thoughts were not all pleasant. In fifty years, if they were lucky, Elpida would be an old woman. Her mind and body would fail her. In a hundred, she would be dead. Lyssa would remain, unbent by time, unmarked by seasons. Elpida would pass, her life merely a chapter in the long book of Lyssa, but the grief of loving her, of bonding her, would last far longer. The elves kept their own company for a reason, even before tensions had risen between Dawnwood and the humans. The mortal races lived short, bright lives. The elves persisted.

“I don’t know if I can.”

The words felt small and wrong on her tongue. She struggled to find better ones. Ones that would convey her concern, her fear, her doubt. It was as though they had tangled themselves into a ball in her throat, making it difficult to breathe, let alone speak. Elpida watched her, studying her face. Then, with a gentle touch against her broach and a whispered word, the soft light dimmed to nothing, and they were bathed in darkness once more. Lyssa watched her face, soft despite the hard lines.

“Then I will wait for you to learn – but I will not wait forever.”

Elpida turned and walked away, her steps heavy and certain despite the darkness, one hand held against the wall, though whether it was for guidance or support was impossible to say. Lyssa watched her leave, mouth still trying to form the right words. Her mind reeled, pulsing with pain. Tears wetted her cheeks and she found herself sitting, back against the wall, hugging her knees. Her words were wrong. The right ones wouldn’t come. The world seemed suddenly a large and cruel place. Was this to be her future? To lose every chance for happiness she clawed at? To be alone, always? Was that what exile truly meant?

Grief gave way to exhaustion and, in the depths of the mountain, far from the comfort and safety of village and bed, Lyssa fell asleep.