Maris strode down the main street with purpose, her poise a stark contrast to the decaying surroundings. She needed to find something that would help her lord succeed in their quest, especially since much would rely on her skills. There seemed to be no obvious place to start until a group of children dashed toward a large building further down the street.

Following the sound of their laughter, Maris found herself approaching a barn-like structure. The two-story building bore the marks of heavy use, its entrance sunk deep in muck, boards hastily thrown down to stave off the worst of the dirt, though filth still clung to every surface. Inside, she was hit by a wave of familiarity—yet a sense of discomfort followed. It reminded her of the soup kitchens of the temples. Rows of weathered picnic tables filled the space, the air thick with the unpleasant blend of livestock odors and the stench of unwashed bodies seated nearby. It was an obvious breeding ground for illness, though she saw no immediate signs of the sick.

Spotting an elderly elf shakily lifting a spoon to his lips, Maris approached him and asked, "Where are the sick?"

The old elf sipped from his bowl, his hand trembling. He set the spoon down and met her gaze with a fleeting glimmer in his eyes before he pointed upward.

Her heart skipped a beat, dreading the answer, but she quickly realized what he meant. The sick were in the loft above.

"Thank you," she whispered, calming herself before heading to a worn ladder leading to the second floor.

The sight that greeted her made her pause, her heart heavy. Elves layed side by side, coughing, wheezing, and barely conscious, sprawled out on makeshift straw beds. Clerics and priests moved among them, offering water and wiping down their fevered brows.

A nearby she-elf, wringing out a warm rag, looked up and asked, "Are you from the church?"

Maris straightened. "Yes. How can I help?"

The she-elf focused back on her patient. "We need help distributing food, water, and baths..." Her eyes drifted to Maris’s armor, realizing she was not the typical church member. "Perhaps you can do something more?"

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Maris considered this and nodded. "I can cast Aura of Vitality a couple times. It won’t cure their disease, but it will ease their suffering for a while."

The she-elf stared at her wide-eyed, as if the offer was beyond her request. "That sounds incredible. Please, do it now."

With a nod, Maris stepped into the center of the room, standing at the feet of the sick elves. She closed her eyes, allowing the ancient language of her people to flow naturally from her lips. Her voice rose, filling the loft, and soon a golden glow radiated from her, enveloping the room. Instantly, the elves stirred, their eyes fluttering open, and they began sitting up, the color returning to their faces.

Without hesitation, Maris walked to the far end of the room and casted the spell again. As the aura faded, she saw relief wash over the faces of those around her. Several attendants rushed over, thanking her profusely, offering her small gifts, food, and even coins—she declined them all with a soft smile.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" a priest asked, stepping forward.

Maris’s face grew serious. "Do you know what’s causing this?"

The priest’s expression darkened. "No... I've reached out to the larger churches outside the city for help, but they lack the resources to aid us."

"That’s terrible." Maris placed a hand on his shoulder. "Don’t worry. My team has been hired to solve this."

The priest’s posture slackened. "I don’t know how much longer we can hold out, to be honest..." he whispered, glancing nervously at the recovering elves.

Maris offered a reassuring pat on his back. "Have faith," she said softly.

He gave a fleeting smile before returning to his duties. Maris watched him go, suppressing her own frown. Something felt off, her suspicions mounting. She needed to investigate further.

Descending to the first floor, Maris made her way to the rear of the building, where it was quieter and more isolated. Kneeling down, she closed her eyes and tapped into her divine connection, focusing her divine sense. She leaned on her connection to her goddess. Her connection, as infinitesimally small as it may be, allowed her to peer into what may be wrong within the land.

After what felt like half an hour of deep meditation, she felt it—something faint, but unmistakably vile. Necrotic energy, pulsing through the ground like an unseen poison, corrupting everything it touched.

Her eyes snapped open, her jaw clenched. "Where is it coming from?" she whispered, determination settling into her bones.

As she rose and walked out of the building, she winced, rolling back her sleeve to reveal a wound that stubbornly refused to heal.