The scenery along the road to the Bazaar (also known as Merchant Crossing) was serene and calming. Large meadows full of hip-high grass and wildflowers. The gentle wind breezing along the fields. The mountains turned black as the sun crested behind the horizon, the sky turning a brilliant mix of pinks, oranges, and yellows. Eliahope leaned on the railing of the cart, in somewhat of a daze as she watched the heavens change from pinks, to red, to purples, to the inky blackness speckled with stars. She was snapped out of it from a sudden hand on her shoulder, Sterline. “We’re here - and we’ve got company.”

Eliahope looked beyond the horses in front to see several small groups of fire. Maybe 3 or 4 small fires, roughly 5 people to a fire? She squinted to try and get a better look before Sahri chimed in.

“We should be… optimistically cautious.” She laughed, though a small tenseness was audible in her voice, “Most merchants don’t travel this late in the year, hence why we’re getting paid to do this job… But at the same time, some merchants didn’t move their stock in time, so they could be more mercs like us!”

Yasha, on the other hand, was noticeably tense and weary of these people. “They are not merchants. Appear rougher.”

After about 15 minutes of quiet but tense banter between the group, we arrived at the camp. Sahri walked up to the first campfire with her usual cheery attitude, only to be met with a distinct silence that only meant one thing to my ears - you’re not welcome. Sahri sulked back to the wagon, “Let’s set up our fire here.” she mumbled, “They might have been nicer had you all not been so damn tense.” She grumbled about while setting up the fire.

“She doesn’t take well to rejection.” Sterline quietly whispered to Eliahope, stifling a chuckle at Sahri’s childish antics.

Eliahope assisted the others with setting up the fire, before sitting cross legged by the fire with her journal sprawled over her lap.

As she wrote down several small notes over her findings so far in the empire, she looked up to see a group at the far end of the camps becoming restless as they quietly spoke hurriedly amongst themselves. Sterline looked up briefly from her journal time and time again before noticing two of their members walking over to them, hat in hand.

Yasha immediately stood as they approach, Sterline greeting them as she stood between them and the party, “Might I ask what it is you need, gentlemen?” She said in seemingly her best motherly tone.

“Terribly sorry miss.. Um.. Y-you’ve an elf in your party?” They stuttered, their hands getting somewhat tighter.

“And I, a dwarf. What of it? Humans haven’t taken issue with us for centuries.” She raised an eyebrow, Yasha’s alertness to her weapon becoming more present.

“N-No issue! We’ve a-an elf in our party as well. But he’s not right. I-I know their people are pretty tight knit.. I was wondering if she could help.?”

Sterline looked towards Eliahope, and when she started to get up holding her notebook, Sterline turned back to the men - “Right, but she will be taking our fighter with her.” And like that, Shari and Eliahope went with then men to their tent.

When they got there, Eliahope’s face immediately lost color - She could sense the miasm that came with elvish plague. A synch that smelled somewhat of mothballs and dust and iron.

“H-...” Eliahope cleared her throat before putting on a small mask from her messenger bag, “How long has the elf been refusing food..?”

“Last we saw him take a bite was a couple days ago…” the man clasped tighter onto his hat in his hands, “We didn’t put it together as he always served himself up. We saw him with food, but we haven’t seen him take a bite since the beginning of the week. He hasn’t gotten out of bed since yesterday - a-and -”

Eliahope raised her hand, “You don’t need to say more. I’ll see him.” The elf turned to her guard, “Stay outside the tent please. Elves are… prideful to not let others see them in low states.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Opening up the tent, Eliahope peaked in, “Sir..? My name is Eliahope.I’m an elf from the embassy in Myenlun.”

A faint groan came from the pile of blankets on the floor, the waft of stale air only more choking inside. “T-The embassy… H-how…”

“I got through before the passenger embargo went into effect.” she quickly dismissed him, before kneeling at his side. “I was a nurse assistant. May I…” she trailed on, peeling back the layers of blankets.

And to her grief, she found exactly what was expected.

Elvish Plague.

His skin was like paper, with purple veins bulging from underneath, as if trying to break free. Pricking one of his fingers, he gave no response - his hands and likely his feet were numb. The blood from the pinprick bled a deep violet. Looking towards his face, she noticed the fatal sign of the disease - black scleras. She knew the three stages of this disease, and the elf laying in front of her had less than 24 hours to live, based on when he lost his sight.

“I’m sorry sir…” she trailed on for his name.

“Xirshi. I am X-Xirshi Xathari. M-My family… lives on the embassy. In Myunlun. I came here for easy work. S-Send money home…So we could build a good… a good life…” the elven man started tearing up, purple blood pooling at his eyes. “M-My mother… My m-mother is Xilina… My f-father Xalbi… They live on in th-the embassy.. A-and I-..” He started trembling, getting louder with his pleas.

“Hush, now… Sire Xirshi.” Eliahope muttered, “Whom is your family deity.. The one Fovera passes you to…”

The elven man wept silently, choking back any control, “I-it’s my t-time.. I-isn’t….” He went quiet, taking a deep breath and trembling, “X-Xathar… Deity of the S-sea.”

“Sire Xirshi. I read you your passage rights. Elves do not believe in death - but transition. Now, is your time for transitioning to Xathar’s realm of the immortal sea. There you shall be amongst the King and our ancestors - Fovera favors those who worship the sea. You will have a lovely journey home.” Eliahope brushed some drenched hair of the plagued elf out of his face, “May Fovera favor your journey, and may Xathar favor your stay. May Ona remember you fondly, and may Igra spare you. Do you have a wish any of them may grant.?”

“M-my ma…” the elven man’s body relaxed as blood pooled around his eyes staring up at the tent, “C-can you write to her…? I don’t want her to th-think I.. abandoned her…” With seemingly the last bit of strength, the elven man held a hand out which Eliahope accepted, cupping in her own. “Look in m-my chest ver there… A letter from h-her is in a small hat box… c-covered in peonies… her favorite. Her address, is in th-there….”

Eliahope smiled softly at the man, as she saw the light fade from his eyes. Methodically she had done as taught: rest his hand on his chest, wipe the blood from his face, and close his eyes. Veins of dark purple turned black as the disease that afflicted him took his life. Once his stiff body softened, she stood up, grabbed the small peony box, and walked out of the tent. “I apologize for your loss.”

“N-no he was fine days ago. He just got a little sick!” The elven man’s friend immediately stormed into the tent, only to stop just past the door, whispering a brief curse.

Eliahope turned to Sahri, nodding softly before beginning to walk back to their camp.

“Wait!! …Wait…”

The man came back out of the tent, putting a hand on Eliahope’s shoulder. “Please.” the man put a small pouch in her hands, the clink of coins ringing out. “Take this. Thank you, I heard you give him your kind’s rights.”

Eliahope looked at the small sack of coin and looked up at the man, “I may ask a favor if a wizard is amongst your midst.”

“Well, sadly you just missed him.”

“Could I look through his things.? You could be present while I do so.”

After a moment of pause, the man nodded his head in agreement.

______

Entering back into the tent, Eliahope began to poke around - careful not to step on or over the body.

“We are sadly broke, it’s the whole reason we took our current job. Most valuable things have been sold off.” The man mumbled, his eyes mainly focussing on his now fallen friend.

Eliahope handed him back the small coin purse, “If you’ve just given money - don’t tell them you're broke. It ruins sentiment and replaces it with guilt.” Her eyes scanned throughout the small tent, a glint of the arcane bouncing off of items, clothes, books, and finally what she had hoped for - vials.

“You know,” Eliahope muttered, looking over a small alchemy set, “It’s actually pretty amazing your friend was able to learn arcana. Elves usually can’t mess with any form of innate or worldly magic, well, usually.”

“Appearances are - deceiving, with him. I’m starting to think he wasn’t who he said he was.” the man chuckled, kneeling down beside the elf.

“Well, he was true enough to his words that in his dying moment he stuck true. Though his mother and father don’t have traditional elvish name - but xatharian names. Both elves may have been elvish orphans in the same church - though elves aren’t usually orphaned outside the embassy unless they come from unwanted unions.” Eliahope grabbed a vial, “But, all that is built on speculation after speculation. What I wouldn’t give to know him better.”

With the vial in her pocket, she went to leave the tent before the man put a hand on her shoulder once again, “What did you grab of my friend’s?”

“Just a potion he made, I supposed. As it turns out I needed this very one.” she pulled back out the vial and showed it to him.

“Babble tongue? Such a common and cheap potion, why do you need that? We made them for copper.”

“A friend needs it.”