Arlana, held the bow steady with her left hand, drawing the bowstring with her right. She drew an imaginary line from herself to the target, a straw doll on a table. Watching the leaves on the trees, she judged the wind speed and compensated. She’d prefer to wait for the wind to calm down or stop altogether, but the wind blew furiously today.
She wore a leather vambrace on her left wrist and a small wooden ring on her right hand. Her leather clothes were riddled with tears and patchwork repairs. A small wooden quiver filled with three arrows hung off her back which her naturally curly hair, tied in a ponytail dangled over.
As she released the string and subconsciously turned to look at the audience. The arrow flew drawing a beautiful arc, impaling the crotch of the doll onto the table. As impressive as it was, the goal was to pin it in the chest against the tree behind it.
Her heart started beating faster. She could still recover, but she tended to panic; thus, she repeated the mistake three more times until the instructor stopped her.
“I don’t know what’s wrong Arlana, but go home. You aren’t doing any good here.” said the instructor as he walked over to the next contestant, motioning him forward to take Arlana’s place.
Walking along pristine marble pathways, the pride of elven magicians, Arlana walked home in despair. She’d practiced for that competition for months, and if she’d won, she would be one of the youngest archers admitted to the elven military.
She was angry at herself, if she got it right the first time, she’d have never panicked the second or the third. But rather than going home to stuff her face in her pillow, she decided to travel to the rangers station and wait for her mother.
The ranger station, a stone construction made in the center of town. The six watch towers responsible for dismissing and dispatching rangers reported to command every hour. The building was more of a bunker carved deep into the ground.
Arlana proceeded down the staircase to the ranger command. People hustled around the room bumping into eachother, talking over each other. It was unusual, and Arlana breathed a sigh of relief realizing that her mother had gotten caught up in some big panic. A perfectly valid explanation for her mother’s absence from the archery game. Although Ilidia would never accept that.
She decided to take a seat. Distracting rangers during a panic with nuisance requests hurts everyone, and she could wait. Sitting there patiently for ten minutes, she looked at the passing rangers, wondering if she could bug one of them when they took a break.
“Arlana,” said a man with a soft, smiling face as he approached her in the standard tight green ranger uniform.
“Ah, Elwas.” She smiled at the man. “Aren’t you busy, I shouldn’t be bothering you during an emergency or… whatever this is.” she glanced around the room again as the rangers continued running around.
“You didn’t ask?” he asked. “A messenger familiar arrived at one of our outposts. It appears to have lost touch with the ranger who’d sent it.”
She tilted her head as she looked at him. “Umm, what exactly does that mean?”
“It means that someone sent a report, but didn’t survive or somehow had their connection with the familiar cut-off before completing it. We’re trying to account for all rangers in hopes of discovering where the problem occurred.”
“The Kingdom of Tornik,” she said with a start. “Are they—”
“No!” he said abruptly. “At least, Korsin doesn’t seem to think so. I heard that the pigeon came from the north, so that’s where we’re focusing our efforts.”
She gave him a confused stare, then said, “The north? Isn’t that just a wasteland?”
“Not quite. The north has always been inhabited by a powerful and intelligent group of monsters called the Erkind. Thankfully they aren’t that smart so surprise attacks have always managed to kill off any that wandered into the forest.” Elwas scratched his cheek as he gave her a sideways glare. “By the way, what are you doing here?”
Arlana returned his stare with a look of annoyance. “Since my mother’s still on duty, I thought I’d wait for her here.”
“Really? That’s odd. Your mother told us that she wouldn’t even be reporting in because she didn’t want to miss the game.” He then looked away and blushed a little. “I wanted to go myself… but Korsin said he needed everyone for this…”
“So you don’t know where my mother is? Can you check the schedule for me?” she said in a begging tone that couldn’t be denied.
“Yea. sure.” Elwas ran over to board posted on the wall and started searching for Ilidia’s name. Each ranger had their own insignia that only those who worked close to them and the rangers warden knew. These insignia were posted on the pegboard to keep a rangers location secret to those who didn’t need to know. Elwas was very close to Ilidia and Arlana, so he knew Ilidia’s insignia by heart.
As he glossed over the board, his head rotating back and forth as he looked for Ilidia’s insignia when suddenly he froze. Arlana thought she saw the colour drain from his face as well but wasn’t sure. He ran over to another ranger and asked him something. Then they both went back over to the board together.
The other ranger nodded a few times then after turning around, arlana realized it was Korsin. Korsin shouted out to the whole room, “Has anyone seen Ilidia. Has she checked in with anyone?”
Judging by the tone of his voice Arlana was starting to get nervous. She wasn’t a fool, she knew what this sounded like. All the rangers froze up looking at Korsin, but none of them raised a voice to his. Elwas started talking to him, and pointing to Arlana. Korsin just pushed him off.
“Given the situation, “ Korsin continued, “we are now under the assumption that Ilidia is our missing ranger... “ He then started pointing people out and assigning them tasks.
Arlana stood there in mute horror listening. Elwas couldn’t take his eyes off of her, his mouth agape and his face pale.
***
When Ilidia woke up chained to a bed with a pounding migraine. She peeked to her left where Sergo stood over a tray adjusting and preparing a set of equipment.
He walked over to one corner of the stone room and put on a flowery pink apron thoroughly coated in dried blood.
Tight restraints pinned her naked body to the cold steel bed. Unable to move, she lost her sense of security in an instant; Sergo had rendered her defenseless and that terrified her.
She started breathing heavily and struggled against the restraints. The more she moved, the more frustrated she became. Unable to appease even the simplest of discomforts she started crying. The room had a cold draft and her naked body afforded her no protection. The tight restraints dug into her flesh. Everything itched; her naked body chafed against the restraints and the drafts of air danced across her skin.
“Good morning. I believe new introductions are in order. As I have said before, my name is Sergo,” he said placing his hand on his chest. “However, it is my privilege to inform you that I am the foremost medical researcher in the world. You are here to become the culmination of my latest medical breakthrough. Ilidia, it is my duty and privilege as a doctor—”
“Don’t you dare call yourself a doctor.” She cried pulling her head forward to spit at him.
“Oh?” He turned his head to Ilidia. “If it’s a matter of credentials miss, then I assure you I have passed the bar on that ten times over,” he spoke in increasing volumes and speed as he moved closer. “The Surgerate would cry tears of joy to have someone of my qualifications working with them. They would probably put a statue of me up next to Mother Pristin if I revealed the results of my research to them.”
Ilidia started eying one of the many cages on the shelves beside her. She tried not to think about what they contained, but a few of them tapped about their homes. “The results, but you’d never show them the methods. What would they say after seeing just one of the things in those cages.” She turned her head back to Sergo who spun around and stomped over to her.
“Those hypocrites!” He shouted with every bit of anger he could muster. “They say they want to save lives, that they can help.” He stuttered into a laugh. “D-do you know how many breakthroughs have been made through their impotent research methods? I’ve had more breakthroughs in one year than they’ve had in the last ten.” Every word he spoke with certainty and vitriol.
She didn’t say anything in reply, just looked up at him with fear. What sort of mess have I gotten myself into, she wondered.
Backing off, Sergo looked up as if in consideration. “Alright, so if I’m not a ‘doctor.’ Then how about ‘The Stitching Man?’ ” He quickly looked down at the woman for approval to which she glared back. “Haha! It works. I’d rather not be associated with that group of hypocrites in the first place. From this day forth,” he raised his index finger to the ceiling, “I shall be known as The Stitching man.”
Filled with excitement, he hopped across the room opening a large metal door. A dark room that radiated a cold chill and only a single metal gurney revealed itself from the shadows. He reached further in and pulled out a small tray with a pair of severed talons on it. With a spring in his step, he hopped across the floor with the tray.
“What do you think? These will be your new feet.” So excited while showing off, he didn’t even turn around to glean Ilidia’s response. If he did, he may have seen the tear streaks or the look of utter revulsion. Instead he continued, “If you liked that, then wait until you see what I’ll be replacing your blood with. It wasn’t easy you know, finding a suitable replacement for an elves blood that wouldn’t kill you instantly,” like a child bragging about his report card, Sergo beamed as he shared the gruesome details.
The talons were huge, far bigger than her current feet. How the hell does he plan on attaching those... things? she wondered. Dark yellow, each about a two feet tall; depending on how he cut, she could end up gaining a foot in height. The claws themselves looked vicious, if she saw whatever monster had those originally, she’d have run the other way—and fast.
Chills ran down her spine as she contemplated his words. “Aren’t you going to kill me?” Shaken, but she had to know. If she lived through this, elven law forbade suicide. Death seemed like an easy alternative to what he proposed. “You know, like an experiment. Use me then throw me away?”
He ran back over to her side. “Oh, no-no-no.” He put his hand on her forehead. “I would never use someone like you for an experiment of that nature. Such a thing is for criminals. People like us, we’re different from them.” Standing tall, he made a small gesture pointing at her then himself.
After thinking about it, she didn’t want to die. So what if I lose my feet, I can’t let Arlana lose her mother, she thought.
“I’ll survive this.” She closed her eyes and repeated the words over and over trying to drown out Sergo.
“Now where was I?” He swung around to look at his tools. “Ah! That’s right. I remember now. As The Stitching Man, it is my duty to explain every procedure to my patients.” He pulled out a paint brush dyed with black ink from a small ornate bowl. “I may need you to be conscious for a good portion of this. I will be making—many—incisions, and I am short of sedatives. But first, I’ll need to paint where to cut.”
He pulled out a protractor and a ruler as well as an assortment of other tools. He drew dotted lines across her legs and she couldn’t help but wonder, so I’ll be gaining about a ten inches then?.
He would prod her body with one tool, stab her with a needle with a different tool, then measure some distance with a length of string. After several minutes, he’d marked thin dotted lines all over her legs.
The restraints had taken their toll on her, but he knew how to rub salt in the wound. As she lay there—helpless, Sergo took advantage, poking and prodding her with needles. Stress accumulated in her knees and she wanted to just kick him in the face.
With the last of the lines in place, he returned the bowl to his tray and pulled up a different—much larger—bowl of the same design, retrieving a small sponge from inside.
“You’ll have to forgive me for not having the most sterile of operating rooms. Those bastards in the Church of Alsof,” he spit as he made mention of the name, ”are to blame for that inconvenience. However, through the combination of effort, disinfectant, and a few spells over the more unruly aspects of the room, this should be just as usable.” He gave a quick squeeze of the sponge and began wiping down her body.
He trotted over to a small stone pillar in the corner of the room, mumbled a few words, and a strange field surrounded them. “This I call the san-it-a-tion field. Another breakthrough the Surgerate will never replicate.” He mumbled the last part. “Today’s operations will focus on giving you some real claws. You still need your hands for now, so we’ll start with your feet. Should be an easy operation, I have some herbs from the forest that should help knock you out for the majority of it. Not sure what we’ll do with the next surgery. I suppose we’ll just have to tough it out.”
Not content to walk around with talons and whatever else The Stitching Man had in mind, she’d resolved to pull at his heartstrings. “Please, I have a daughter.” He gave her a questioning glare. “Her name is Arlana. Please, you can’t do this.”
He stared at her for a moment. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” She saw a glimmer of hope. “Here eat this.” He shoved the plants into her mouth. “Either eat them or we can operate on you while you’re awake.”
She quickly started chewing, and not even a moment later he placed a bit in her mouth and tied a band of rubber around her thighs to cut off circulation. “Until you fall asleep, I’ll go over some of the changes I hope to implement on your body. Let’s start with the obvious, you shall have the strongest talons in the world. Cut from a great zerbeast from the mountains; it can’t be cut by normal swords, and it even has the power to crush a mithril shield. Then your blood, well that’s a little more tricky. Thankfully the goddess herself has blessed us with a suitable substitute for you to use. It’s—”
***
Elwas wanted to tell Arlana that everything would be okay. That he’d find her mother for her. That she wasn’t dead, and that her world wasn’t collapsing around her, but he knew better. Words were cheap. He didn’t want to offer her false hope only to have a rug of half truths pulled out from under her. If there was anything he could do for her, it was out in the field, looking for her mother.
Elwas ran across the fields, jumping over roots, and jumping through bushes at incredible speeds. No one could search the woods faster than elves could. Bushes would open a hole in themselves as an elf jumped towards it and branches pulled themselves into convenient positions making travel easy. Elves even had a sixth sense about obstacles when they ran through a forest, and their speed was enhanced for as long as they travelled in the forest.
No one could compare to an elf in a search of the forest, and whoever was responsible for Ilidia’s disappearance would be in for a hard fight if they thought to pull one over on the elves. Already Elwas had run through half of Ilidia’s patrol route. He’d run out the door as soon as Korsin finished making orders.
Thinking things over, this probably was a horrible decision on his part. Ilidia was a talented user of elven nature magic. Nowhere near the level of someone like Korsin, but compared to himself, she was a monster.
Familiar magic was not something that you looked down on. The undead and nature magic were strangely comparable in their ability to fight long after incurring wounds severe enough to kill any mortal body. Familiars were a combination of imagination and nature, so even if a leg is cut, the familiar will still run as if it had all four legs because that’s how it was imagined.
Of course, adding more detail and size to a familiar required a superior imagination, but Ilidia’s familiars in a forest could defeat almost any human mage in head-to-head combat.
Familiars could however be dealt with by cutting off anything dangerous about them or simply dispelling the familiar magic somehow.
Elwas on the other hand, had no familiars, and a talent in archery. Normally, he wasn’t even allowed to patrol and worked on the relatively safe assignments.
***
Just as he claimed, with needle and thread in hand, he hadn’t finished stitching on her talons. Which horrible pain had woken her, she didn’t know—the excruciating feeling of missing feet, the piercing feeling of having oversized ones stitched on or the tender burning sensations running throughout her body.
Stolen story; please report.
“Ah. You’re awake. Excellent, you’re just in time. Tell me, does this hurt?”
“Everything hurts you bastard,” she said while choking back her tears.
He then placed a small candle used to light the room underneath one of her talons.
“It hurts!” she screamed.
“Excellent. it looks like the attachment of your new talons was a complete success. We’ll have to run a few more tests, but I’m optimistic about the result.” With that he returned to suturing flesh.
When he finished, he modified the restraints to bind her arms behind her back. After unhooking the other restraints, he carried her to another room. She’d try to escape, except she didn’t like her odds of running away with newly attached talons. Of course, the first thing he modified was my feet so I can’t run away. Even if her feet wouldn’t fall off, she couldn’t walk on the things.
If she couldn’t get away, she still wanted to hit him a few times. Her bound arms posed a problem though. That left a headbutt or a kick; since her head wouldn’t fall off from using it, she used a headbutt. She really didn’t like headbutts, but it was better than the alternative.
Thrusting her head forward she tried to catch Sergo’s chin.
He just grabbed hold of one of her arms, holding her in place. “It’s not the first time I’ve had a patient try to hit me my dear.”
After entering the room, she saw a significantly larger cage than the ‘things’ she’d seen earlier.
“Say hello to your bedroom.” He said approaching what could only be described as a giant birdcage.
The cage appeared to be nearly ten meters tall and made completely of metal. Wooden poles extended from one end of the cage to the other—in short, a perch. Something that looked like a feeding trough hung in front of the perch for food.
She wanted to get angry at him, but she just didn’t have the energy. She decided to ask some questions instead. “When did you have time to build all of this stuff? How long was I even out?”
“Ah, that. Not long, but I had actually been in that clearing for much longer than you realized. I had been working underground for the majority of my time. The house on top was a hasty addition I threw together.” He motioned to the cage. “But this, I put effort into this.”
Entering the giant birdcage, he laid her down on a makeshift bed in the corner. “You’ll have to forgive the bed, it’s something for you to use between operations. You’ll find your real bed far more appropriate once we’re done the operations.” To her surprise, he unlocked her restraints, instead locking a collar around her neck that tied her to the bed. “I wouldn’t recommend going anywhere in your condition. Not that you should have the strength to do much right now.”
She curled up into a ball trying to ignore the agony she felt. “Just go away.” She wanted to resist, but how much could she even do right now. Locked underground, not an ounce of strength in her body, and she may as well not even have feet. Her main weapons were her familiars and claws which had been stripped away. How would she even climb a ladder or a set of stairs like this. Would she have enough food. Those thoughts haunted her as she laid there in bed.
***
Marching into an oversized building—seemingly made out of straw—Korsin wore his traditional tight green form-fitting uniform. He hated wearing such provocative clothing, but the militarily uniform had practical benefits. Normally he could tolerate it by spending his day in the far reaches of the forest or hiding in his office that he’d built in the mountains to the south, but now he had to talk to people. People he loathed talking to.
The inside consisted of one large dimly-lit room. Well, dimly lit everywhere, except the display case—as he liked to call it. The display case, a stone attachment to the otherwise thatched building had large braziers to illuminate itself with. The display case consisted of a stand towering four feet over the rest of the crowd. Everyone who‘d talk that evening had to sit there on display for a gawking crowd of elves.
He actually liked humans in this respect. Humans had strict moral and religious ethics to uphold and found the uniforms in poor taste. He never caught a human staring at him for long before correcting themselves and continuing on their way.
Elves happily stared at him, giving flirtatious winks when he looked back. Korsin knew he could only hide from the perverted elves. He’d hide in his treehouse in the mountains for weeks and months and more if he could get away with it, but things like council meetings or a missing ranger had a way of ruining his plans.
Oh, the joy of talking to the council, Korsin mused. Oddly enough, none of the council had to sit on the stage or wear goofy skin-tight uniforms. They wore robes in a dark corner of the hall.
He’d reflected on all of this a dozen times over since he’d decided to attend the council meeting to present the non-speaking bird. Marching forward through the array of chairs and tables, up and onto the display case in his spiffy uniform, he reflected on it one more time.
He took the seat furthest to the left so he could talk first. He’d gotten up before dawn just so he could take that seat. When you’re done talking, you can go. Korsin always left the first chance he got.
Thankfully, most people arrived at the last minute, so he wouldn’t be on display for long. He also took the opportunity to douse the fires a little, removing a log or two before they could be lit, pushing the braziers closer to the edge of the stage and pulling the chairs closer to the back of the stage.
He took a seat, smiling at his handiwork. His body was lit, but not well enough to see all the details. This old elf had more than a few tricks up his sleeve.
***
She had hoped that sleep would offer her the brief illusion that the previous day’s events were a nightmare, but the pain kept her from such happy thoughts. The entire night she laid awake and the burning pain kept her fully aware of her situation.
Instead, she spent the night planning. In her honest opinion, her best chance at rescue laid in sitting still and doing nothing. Even if she lost her connection with her pigeon familiar, it would continue to Efundel on its own—hopefully setting off some alarms.
As much as she hated playing the damsel in distress, her feet could literally fall off during an escape attempt. But that didn’t mean she had to sit still; no, she wasn’t going to wait for The Stitching Man to butcher her again—but she needed to think things through first. She had one goal for today—buying time.
“Good morning!” Sergo wore his usual elderly smile, but having seen him in a different light, it looked crooked. “I’ve brought you some breakfast. I know elves don’t typically like a lot of meat, but I was hoping that some of the changes I made to your body would … Let you enjoy some of the more predatory pleasures.” He walked in with a massive plate overflowing with different kinds of meat and salad placing it on her bedside table.
“What do you mean, all you did was change my feet. Why would that affect my interest in meat?” She said, but in all honesty, her mouth watered for the meat. He placed the tray so the salads were on one side of her, and the meats were on the other. While she wanted to affirm her elven nature by digging into the salad, the meats just looked too tempting to resist.
“Ah, I suppose you fell asleep as I was telling you.” He walked over to her bedside and lifted the blankets hiding his handiwork. “I have started to change your circulatory system to produce the new type of blood I was telling you about before.”
As he examined her leg she tried to kick him out of fury and opportunity, but mysteriously he already had his hand holding her thighs down. Either the man had the arm strength of an orc or she had the leg strength of a small child. In the end, she gave him several weak punches as a compromise which he took without resistance.
“The conversion is something I have to do slowly over the course of several weeks,” he said ignoring her resistance, “but a taste for meat should only be expected from demon blood.”
She dropped her fork. “Y-y-you d-did what?”
“I’ve started switching out your blood for that of a demons',” Ilidia’s face grew paler as Sergo spoke. “Not just any demons’ either. This is blood offered to me straight from an altar of her holiness, Hersia herself.”
In her flowed demon blood of the mad god, a bold revelation in itself, but if demon blood flowed through her then the source didn’t really matter. “You gave me demon’s blood from the goddess of madness?”
He gave her a stern look. “Not the goddess of madness my dear. She is anything but mad. She is the goddess of creativity, entertainment, and dancing. Oh, you should see her dance. You will convert like that.” He snapped his fingers.
“No thank you. I’m quite happy with my elven gods.” She said the words that she’d repeated to countless human preachers, but never meaning it quite as much as she did then.
He wagged his finger at her. “Oh, you don’t know what you’re missing. I’ll have to make a point of bringing her holy book over sometime after the operation. We can perform the nine ravings together.”
“That sounds wonderful, but is there any chance that we can slow down the operations a bit. Give my talons a chance to heal before we go adding other stuff?” She decided to move the conversation to something else before she offended him. “I would be really appreciative if you could gather some more sedatives for my next operations as well. You were saying that you were low right?”
He gave her a stern look. Wide eyes, carefully examining her. Then he gave her the biggest smile she’d seen on him yet. “Oh, you understand me. The work is so tiring,” he wiped his forehead with a cloth, “I would love to have some rest before the next operation. You are absolutely right, if we are going to do this we should do it right. If I’m exhausted all the time, how can I possibly perform complex surgeries.”
She nodded in response. Then she dug into the glistening meat like she’d been on a hunger strike for the past three days.
Over the next several days, he continued to monitor her condition closely. Every day he would perform some strange healing spells on her ankles. He claimed they needed fine-tuning after the operation.
She tried several times to use them in various ways, but moving them was excruciatingly painful, and standing on them felt unbelievably weird. Sergo would always say, “Take your time, you’ll get it eventually.”
***
The first of the council and others who would be speaking started filing in. One of the female speakers took the smaller torch and started approaching the braziers and Korsin almost jumped out of his closely guarded chair to stop her. “N-no please. Please don’t light the braziers.” Korsin didn’t mind sounding desperate, much better than being stared at for another hour.
“It’s dark and cold in here,” she said what any normal elf would say. “Besides, what do you think of coming to dinner with me this coming haspa?” She raised a malevolent eyebrow while holding the torch precipitously close to the brazier.
“No, I was wrong. If you’re cold, then by all means, light it.” Defeated, he slouched down in his chair, trying to hide his features from the prying eyes of the crowd. He expected someone to light the damned things, someone always does, but that’s what his backup plan was for.
“Joyous dawn to you warden,” said one of the entering councilmen.
Korsin wondered how anyone could talk like that without immediately hurling. Then he remembered he was talking about Councilmen Rolden. “A joyous dawn to you too Councilman.”
When councilman Shareuph came in, Korsin tensed.
“I see the good warden responsible for our defense is in attendance today. I trust that you are in proper attire this time?” he said, closely examining Korsin’s skin tight uniform, “That uniform is a part of our history, our culture, and it’s by the rule of this council that you shall attend every meeting in full uniform.”
Korsin wanted to strangle the man. Because of Shareuph’s investigations into his wardrobe and subsequent discussions with the council, Korsin couldn’t wear his modified loose fitting uniform anymore which looked almost the same as his current one. “As you can see…” He gazed down and gestured at his clothes. “You can see everything… just how you like it.”
“Right, right,” he said as he picked up a couple of logs from the pile and stoked the braziers several times higher. Korsin sat back in resigned horror as the large group of female elves in front of him seemed to liven up.
Female’s never attended the council meetings in such numbers unless Korsin came. He had no idea how they’d always find out, especially since he’d come at the crack of dawn, but they always knew.
The remains of the council had finished taking their seats in their cushy dark alcove. “Before we begin The Turn, is there any urgent business anyone would like to share?” Said the particularly haughty looking Lord Phalron whose long brown hair covered his otherwise tired face.
Elves could grow beards on the odd occasion. It was considered an exotic nuance to them, and if someone could grow a beard, they most definitely would grow one.
A few drops of sweat dribbled down Korsin’s neck as he decided to stand. “Lord Phalron, I have some rather pressing business.”
Lord Phalron replied, “Then I suppose it is your turn to speak. Go ahead warden.”
Korsin nodded and continued, “A pigeon that seems to be someone’s familiar arrived at one of the outposts yesterday, but the bird’s connection with it’s master seems to have disappeared.”
Slightly concerned now, the council began chattering between each other. “And do we know who this pigeon belonged to?”
“We believe it belongs to the Forest Ranger Ilidia as she never returned from patrol.” The heat from the braziers started to get to him and his already skin tight uniform dripped with sweat. The audience gasped in excitement, enjoying the show—his cheeks flushed bright red as a result. .
Councilman Philian responded with his famous stutter, “S-so exactly how does the council play a role in all of this. While that-er-this news is disturbing, I just … well… how can we help? You’re the forest warden, isn’t this your job?”
“Yes,” Korsin replied, “I have already dispatched my rangers to search, but her patrol route is quite large. Furthermore, I’m worried about sending rangers into a trap.”
“Those are all valid concerns, but what are you asking of us?” Councilmen Feluna asked.
“I’d like to mobilize the army to sweep the whole forest.” The crowd burst into gasps. After the crowd calmed down, Korsin continued, “Someone abducted a lone ranger on her patrol. Why would they do that?” He paused and looked across the faces in the crowd. “Why not go after travellers like they usually do? Why go looking for a fight? Why raise the alarm? It’s likely that whoever’s responsible doesn’t plan on sticking around to let us find them. They’re probably operating in a small group, they may already be leaving the forest. If this is the case—”
“Let me stop you there warden. I hear an awful lot of conjecture in that speech, but what evidence do you have to back it up?” Councilman Shareuph’s question made Korsin flinch and pale, looking down in silence. “There are some bells you can’t unring warden.”
Korsin hesitated for a moment and not a soul in the audience cared about what he was wearing anymore. “I realize that councilman, but this whole case is odd. I have a feeling that if we don’t find her fast, we won’t find her at all.”
“You have a feeling warden…” Councilman Shareuph reminded him. “We can’t mobilize an army based on a feeling and conjecture over a single elf…”
“But you knew that already didn’t you warden?” Councilman Feluna chimed in. “Exactly what do you want warden.”
Korsin gazed at her in shock for a moment. She was far more perceptive than he’d given her credit. “I’d like a compromise.” The council looked up warily at the sudden request. “I’d like permission to ask for volunteers from the army to help search for the missing ranger.”
Shareuph decided to answer, “Do you—”
“Please councilman. She has a daughter.”
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