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With Fohr at her side, Novi walks into a large, medieval city gate. They’re not wearing their armor and are instead dressed in simple garments. Novi is wearing her brown dress with a coat and Fohr an equally bland gray tunic and cloak. His long hair is now cut almost to the scalp, while Novi wears hers in a braid. The only weapons they are carrying are cheap wooden bows.
Neither of them is even a half-decent archer, but bows are the self-defense weapons of choice for poor travelers. And for now, that is what they are. Poor travelers with few things to trade and even less gold. Novi tries to walk with her shoulders slouched. The others told her it makes you look weaker.
The air around them is cold but the frigid temperature doesn’t bother the elves. The boredom and freezing cold make Novi hungry. She eyes the dead hare the man in front of her is carrying. She has already eaten twice today, but there's always space for a small snack. The young elf restrains herself though. They shouldn’t make a scene.
Finally, it's their turn.
“Come here,” the female human guard says. Novi stands more than two heads taller than her.
The human beckons her to lean down. Reluctantly, Novi complies. With unnecessary force, the woman forces Novi’s eyelids open and looks into her eyes. Then she tells Novi to open her mouth, which she does. Then she tells Novi to breathe at her, which, again, she does.
Novi can’t stop herself from asking, “What was that?”
“Health check. Elf Blood and Mortis have been doing the rounds lately. If you spot anyone with blue fingers, blood coming out of their eyes, or any other suspicious symptoms, report them to the nearest guard.”
Novi blinks a few times. “Aren’t we elves immune to… all of that?”
The guard scowls at her. “Yeah, yeah. I know how it works. You elves are immune to everything, blah, blah. That is, until you don’t get your freaking three feasts a day and then blood starts coming out of your eyes, mouth, and ears. And you two don’t look rich enough to eat one meal a day. But you look clean, so I have to let you through. Next!” And with that, the guard waves her away.
“That was easy,” Novi whispers to Fohr once they're out of earshot of the guards.
“You expected it to be harder?”
“I just figured these guards would at least ask us what we're doing here.”
Fohr snorts. “These people’s biggest problems are diseases, unemployment, and hunger. Not free elves that occasionally come out of the mountains to burn down a settlement or two in the wilds…” Fohr sighs. “Our kind has really fallen from grace. To think we once had an empire that spanned these lands…”
Novi glances at Fohr. “You’re starting to sound like my mother.”
Her eyes wander around the busy street. She feels a bit like a wolf among sheep. Further north, where her old house usually performed its raids, Confederate Legionnaires are guarding every caravan. They sometimes even place random lookouts in the forests, though those usually don’t last very long, as the soldiers stationed there are quickly taken care of by mortisors, bandits, vampires or an elven raiding party out for blood. That is if they don’t desert before something has the chance to kill them.
Novi hates these cities. Her mother always told her that these were once theirs. Lost during the slave rebellions led by the Destroyer and waiting to be reclaimed. She can’t imagine living in one of them though. At least not as a peasant, but from what her mother told her, her grandfather was the son of the younger brother of the Patriarch of Dexia. Novi always likes to imagine what she would be, had the rebellion been crushed. Her mother told her that back in the old days men defended the land, and when they got too old to fight, ruled on matters of state and law. Women defended the home, raised the children and policed the peasants living under them. Novi likes to imagine she would be the house's master of life, charged with extending the all-too-short lives of her kin.
She’s distracted from her thoughts by a tall and slender figure. Another elf. She too is a high elf, but that is where the similarities end. Unlike Novi, she looks like a walking skeleton, obviously incapable of eating enough to build up muscles.
Every time Novi sees one of these pathetic whores, she feels nothing but pity. While the cold north and the wilds are anything but hospitable, by the Destroyer’s decree, only members of the so-called Association of Mages are allowed to practice magic. Magic is power and Novi would rather die than leave her future children weak. Unlike the other elf’s grandparents, who must've cowardly surrendered to those who once served them.
The sound of drums fills the air as they get closer to the main street, pulling Novi’s mind away from the other elf.
“What… is going on here?” she hisses in Fohr’s ear. “Those are legion marching drums.”
Fohr just smiles. “That is the perfect distraction, and the reason there will be as good as no legionaries on the docks to check what we’re loading onto our ship.”
Behind the crowd gathered at the side of the road, soldiers march in rank and file to the rhythmic booms of drums. Their leather boots strike the cobblestone road in unison and every few steps, the butts of their bronze spears strike the ground in a thunderous clap.
Novi can easily see over the heads of the mostly human crowd. The soldiers are all dressed in white gambesons with vests consisting of small iron plates protecting their chests and iron helmets on their heads. In their left hands, they are all holding towershields of wood and bronze, with the insignia of the Confederation painted in white on them. Their right hands all hold a spear, while sheathed bronze swords hang at their sides. It’s not just legionaries marching in the troupe though. With them, Novi can also see several men wearing the colors of the Lorman Citizens’ Militia and a few wearing the black outfits of the Association of Mages.
Fohr whispers, “Damn. They’re clogging the street. We have to cross the main square to get to the place the dragon told us about.”
Just then, a man in the front of the troupe yells, “What do we do?”
The soldiers answer, “We die for our people!” and smash their spears on the ground three times.
“What?” Novi asks as she and Fohr push their way through the crowd, following the marching soldiers to the city’s main square.
Fohr shrugs. “I have no idea.”
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The soldiers repeat their chant until they reach the main square. At the center of the square, on a pedestal, stands a large statue of the ascended Divine Emperor of the Confederation. The only part of it not made from gold is the iron arm the naked man has raised, its finger extended to point away from the Governor’s mansion. Engraved on the pedestal are the words ‘The will of man, cast in eternity.’ In front of it stands a gallows, usually used to hang criminals. On its wooden platform stands a man dressed in bronze armor and a red cloak. The marching soldiers gather in the square and the crowd fills the street behind them.
Novi and Fohr begin making their way towards the other side, as the man on the scaffold yells, “When the wild elves in the north attack, it is the Confederate Legion that answers the horns of battle. When there are vampires that hide in the forests or in the sewers, it is the Legion that slays them. When the dryads invades, we march to face their terrible tide. When the nation needs defending, it is we who die!”
He pauses, to let the soldiers chant, “We die for our people!” and smash their spears against the ground.
“Indeed we do. We die for our people. Because someone has to, because no one else will and because THAT is our duty. All we ask in return is for our families to be well fed and to be given the best chance of survival when we die for our people!”
The soldiers repeat his chant as Novi and Fohr hit a market stand, forcing them to press through the thickest part of the crowd.
“We all know the scene. After every fight, wounded men lie in the dirt as the scholars of life run around, knowing that they could save dozens, but don’t have the strength to. And we understand. We understand the almost dead from exhaustion healer who leaves us to die from an arrow through the stomach. We understand that healers don’t win battles, and that’s why we can’t train too many of them. At least, I would understand. I would understand if there were no recruits. But I know from Master of Life Ana Stiroka that there is no shortage of children. But no money to train them. I’d understand that too. There’s no money. What are you gonna do? Yet, while our Divine Lord in all his glory cuts our wages and cuts the Association’s funding, they build towers of gold and marble in the capital. They spend gold to build houses for the poor, the stupid and the useless. They throw away money in lavish parties and celebrations for the common folk while we suffer on the fronts. They forge expensive gold into statues while we fight with shields and blades of bronze. Unlike most legions, we at least have armor of iron, but that’s only thanks to the Governor. But that’s not even the worst part. Look at what they expect me to equip new recruits with!”
The Centurion pulls apart a parcel at his feet and picks up the weapon the gray cloth reveals. From a leather-wrapped handle, gnarled wood like tree roots twists upwards. On the edges of the weapon, the dark-brown bark has been filed away to reveal the red and yellow material beneath, and to create sharp blades. Amber. Not the gem, but the inside of the roots of a special plant. A material that, unlike bronze or iron, can be grown on almost any field.
The armored man throws the weapon on the floor and pulls out his sword. He raises the blade over his head with both hands and slams it down on the other weapon. Amber is hard and tough, but the natural material simply cannot withstand the cold, unyielding edge of steel. The wood exterior splinters and the amber core is cut clean through. The man kicks the two pieces of the weapon off the stand.
“This is what they give us. Wood. I don’t understand that. I would understand why we build grand palaces and statues for our Emperor if he fought by our side. If he used the power granted to him to burn the dryads. I would gladly follow the ban on enchanting if he sent the Eternals to destroy the southerners. But in the last ten years, His Divine Highness has not moved a single bit of his ascended ass out of the Confederate Palace. Not once in ten years! I do NOT understand that! Does anyone here understand why their comrade, child, brother or father needs to die while our apparently all-powerful leader sits on his throne and his immortal companions do nothing but guard him?”
“No!” the soldiers chant.
A woman next to Novi whispers, “What he’s saying… it’s treason.”
“I thought so,” the man continues. “We Centurions lead by example, as all good leaders do. We charge into battle with our legates and soldiers and I refuse to follow a leader who sits on his magically supercharged ass and rests his heavy feet on my back! I refuse to be told I can’t have a flaming sword by someone who cheats death with magic. I refuse to be told my men need to die, by someone who does nothing but tell others to build gold statues of himself…”
Novi and Fohr lose the man’s voice as they leave the square and hurry down the empty street.
“Quite the crowd he gathered,” Fohr chuckles.
Novi says, “Quite the words too. Openly defying his divine Emperor. That human has some balls.”
“He’s a soldier. He has to.”
Novi smiles. “Right. Anyone who fights against us has to have massive balls.”
Fohr guides her through Lorma’s streets, then stops in front of a random house and knocks.
A young she-elf opens the door. Just like Novi, she is dressed in a loose brown dress, but her slightly yellowish skin and smaller stature identifies her as a common elf. Her eyes move up and down the two strangers. “Whataya want?”
“Can we come in?” Fohr asks.
Without taking her eyes off them, she yells into the house, “Derek. There are two high elves here. Should I let them in?”
“Yes,” a male voice calls from inside.
The two have to lean forward to fit through the door. Even once they’re inside they have to keep their heads low, or risk banging them against the ceiling.
Novi feels a bit uneasy. Fohr, on the other hand, looks completely relaxed.
Most of the space in this house is taken up by a hearth and a table in the middle of the room. Herbs and other things hang drying from the ceiling. At the end of the table sits a young elven man, and next to him, an apparently older human man. The other five seats are taken up by three she-elves and two human women. The humans and common elves are all eating bread and some sort of vegetable soup.
Fohr says, “One of you paid a dragon to tell us you wanted to join the ‘wild elves.’”
They all watch him. The he-elf is the first one to say something. “So you’re mages, I assume.”
Fohr raises his arms and slams his fists together. A wave of green energy flows over his body, giving his skin a green glow. Once the force field covers his entire body, it becomes almost invisible.
All of their eyes widen.
The one at the head of the table wipes his hands and gets up. Unlike the others, he looks well built. It tells Novi that he rarely goes hungry. “See, Sivi? I told you it was going to be worth it.” He turns to Novi and Fohr. “So what do we do now?”
Fohr stops channeling the spell, causing the transparent glow to dissolve. “Now you tell us why you want to join our house. Or rather, why you want to leave this city.”
The he-elf smiles. He raises his hand and his face contorts as he concentrates. Finally, lightning sparks between his fingers.
Both Fohr and Novi’s jaws drop.
“This is why. My mother was one of the first elves who stopped fighting, but she still tried to teach me a bit from the Lore of Lightning. And just like those soldiers outside, I’m sick of being stepped on by everyone.”
Fohr quickly closes his mouth again and says, “This is… unexpected. How much do you know? What spells?”
The he-elf’s expression falls. “Not much. We could only train in secret and she only managed to teach me how to draw power from the Void, before she caught Elf Blood one winter. I can electrocute things and cook with it, but not much more. I’m trying to teach it to the others though and I want to learn more. No. I need to know more. Whenever I feel the energy flow through me, I feel like I’m high on power. You don’t need to tell me, or any of us. We know living in the wilds is difficult and that everything from monsters to legionaries can kill us out there. That there is no market to buy things and no house to protect you from a blizzard. Even if it kills us, we want to learn more. I want to be able to cast real spells. Everyone here does.”
“What about your human friends?” Fohr asks.
The he-elf looks at the man next to him. It looks like the he wants to respond, but the human speaks first: “I don’t give a damn about the Divine Emperor, the Association or the Legion. I heard that your kind allows humans to join your ranks. Derek taught us how to channel the elemental force of lightning. I don’t care what I have to do to learn more.”
Novi freezes and stares at Fohr, while he looks them all up and down. “Within the next hour, we’ll be leaving on a ship. I’m going to be frank with you. We will train you, but it’ll be years before you’re able to effectively use magic in combat. Until then, you will have to fight with normal weapons. You will most likely die before you cast your first real spell.”
They all look at each other, then one of the she-elves says, “We’ll take that risk.”
Fohr nods. “Then pack your things. You will never see this house again. Don’t take too much.”
While the people pack, Novi leans closer to Fohr and hisses, “Are you serious? How can you take humans in, much less teach them magic? It’s bad enough we have to worry about the Association!”
“It has worked out great for other houses. Please, let's not discuss this here…”