Repercussions - 2. Chapter 2

Gwin kept a hand on the pommel of one of her swords, looking around nervously. This place was out of her league. The gnome was used to the woods, to hunting animals, not trying to navigate through the slums.

"'Ey, why the stern looks?" a drunk man slurred, stumbling in front of the group.

Gwin fidgeted slightly, but Orain stepped up first.

"Temple business," she said sharply, tossing a coin at the man.

"By the gods…"

The man held up the gold coin, sobering nearly instantly.

"Of course yer Majesty. I'll be out of yer way at once!"

The group stopped in front of the orphanage. Gwin knocked on the door, wrinkling her nose at the smell around them. They couldn't get out of the city soon enough, but Mathira had insisted on visiting this dump one more time before they left.

The door opened, a cloaked man sticking his head out.

"Althair- oh… uh, hello?" he asked suspiciously.

"Oh!" Mathira gasped, as if a puzzle piece had just fallen into place. "We… well, I came to warn you of disaster."

The man frowned in his shadowy cowl, staring darkly at the mage.

"Whatever you're plotting with this place, I will stop it."

The man grunted, chin tipping up slightly.

"Why must you send these people to me…?"

He turned away, closing the door. Gwin frowned at Mathira, shaking her head.

"I have no idea what that was about…"

"Personal project. I hope it worked. Let's deal with this werewolf quickly so I can come back here."

The group began walking again, most of the denizens of the slums staying distant from the armed adventurers. Finally, they reached the stables, Gwin accepting her horse from the stablegirl.

"Uh, Gwin?"

Hera stood at her side, a nervous look on her face.

"I wasn't given enough to pay for a mount-"

"Oh, no worries. Mira can carry us both, no problem," Gwin smiled.

She climbed onto the horse, Hera pulling herself up behind her. The halfling's arms wrapped around her as she steadied herself, then fell to rest on Gwin's thighs.

The gnome frowned at the sight of their cloaked fighter still standing without a mount.

"Hey, mount up," she snapped at him.

Nyaran? Niaran? She couldn't remember what his whispered name was. He was quiet, though he had assured them that he could do his job well. A hooked lance was held upright in his hand, thin metal tip certainly looking lethal enough. Gwin had assumed he had a mount with a weapon like that.

There was a sharp whistle, and the air beside the fighter shimmered. Gwin's jaw dropped as a giant panther appeared out of thin air, a specialised saddle on her back. The fighter leapt onto the cat's back, his lance sliding into a rest beside him.

Peeling her jaw out of her lap, Gwin shook her head, before making sure Mathira and Orain didn't have any surprises for her. The others were waiting patiently on their horses.

Gwin clicked quietly, balancing as Mira stepped forward. They made their way to the South Gate, and were soon on the road.

A knock on the door woke Elluin from an uneasy slumber. Rolling over, the elf stood and moved to the door, pulling a shirt over his head.

The village elder, an elf nearly five hundred years old, stood on the other side, long silver hanging down to his waist. His face was aged for an elf, his eyes starting to blind. Elluin had much respect for the elf; he had been the one to convince the village to keep him until his eighteenth year.

"How can I help you, Elder Xara?"

"Oh…" the old elf chuckled quietly. "I forgot you young ones like to get right to the root of a conversation. Might I come in for a moment?"

Nodding, Elluin stepped aside to allow Xara into his house. The older elf hummed thoughtfully as he failed to find a place to sit.

"I'm pleased to see you continued your arcane studies after Arien's death. He saw a lot in you."

Elluin nodded. He already knew that; Arien wouldn't train anyone who wasn't motivated to learn. And his motivation was clear. He needed to make someone in the village happy or he would have been exiled. The fact that he was still allowed into the village was testament to his success.

"I would make you some tea, but I am out of water," he said.

"That is alright," Xara said. "I know you have had a rocky past with the village. I would like to apologise for that."

"Thank you. I know you tried to help me."

"I could have done more. I am ashamed to admit I chose not to. It is clear you do not see this as your home, and I understand why."

Xara let out an uncomfortable sigh, closing his eyes.

"We received a message, on the night before the full moon. Addressed to you. Naturally, it was opened, and read."

The elf handed Elluin a scroll made of what appeared to be hide. It seemed a waste to use such material for a simple message, but perhaps it was all the sender had on hand. A hole ran through the top, an arrow hole from the look of it.

"It was delivered by arrow. I believe the sender did not want us to see them, and they have been alarmingly successful in that respect," Xara added.

Elluin studied the letter with a frown.

'Elluin, meet me at the rapids of Etaru'laqueel. I will wait for two weeks. Come alone.'

"Naturally, our scouts have been combing that area since before you arrived. We have found nothing, save for a large pack of wolves in a nearby den. They have been left alone."

Elluin nodded slowly.

"I will have to go then."

"We have questions. How did this person know to find you?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. The tiefling who came through the forest last month would know nothing of this village. This person, from the timing of the letter, seems to know of my curse. No one knows of my curse except for the village," Elluin frowned.

"We thought of that. It is unlikely any in the village would wish to fight what you have become. And I trust you enough to know you would never turn on us.

"However, there are some in the village that believe it would be better for you to leave until this matter is dealt with."

Elluin nodded slowly.

"I wasn't planning on staying around very long anyway," he said. "I'll pack up and be gone within the hour. Will I be allowed to return eventually?"

Xara shook his head.

"I'm sorry."

"I knew the day was coming. You say I do not see this as my home. I never have."

The words seemed to cut into the elf, his pain showing on his face. Elluin couldn't deny he felt some satisfaction at that. A life of feeling unwelcome made it hard for him to feel sorry for the elves. He didn't belong here, and he had been reminded of that every day as a child.

Gathering his sword and cloak, Elluin began filling a bag with what was left of his berries and mushrooms.

"Thank you for allowing me to remain as long as I have."

Setting a hand on the elder's shoulder, Elluin stepped out of the building for the last time.

Hope looked around as he approached the guildhall. Maybe it was the warning, maybe it was Althair's absence, but the tiefling had a feeling of doom, as though something was waiting to happen.

Tyrivan was waiting at the guildhall door, a book in his hand.

"Good morning Hope," the gnome smiled, holding the book out. "I found this book on casting spells through weapons, and I thought you might like to look it over."

"Oh, thanks," Hope smiled, accepting the book. "I'm not sure I'm ready for this stuff though."

"So copy it and learn later," the gnome said. "I wanted to say thank you. Your advice really helped with the dwarf song."

"I'm glad I could help," Hope said.

His hair stood up on the back of his neck, and Hope hurried Tyrivan into the guildhall. The tiefling was unsure what was happening, but he knew he didn't want to be around to find out.

"I need to keep practicing my writing," he said nonchalantly, trying to distract the gnome from the fact that he had just rushed him into the building.

"Yeah, I should practice my drumming," Tyrivan shrugged.

They parted, Hope heading for the universal study room. He was stopped by Barin before he could reach the door.

"Hope, I've let it go for a while, but Elluin told me you have some inherent magical spells, namely your ability to charm people. Have you looked into this ability at all while you've been here?"

Hope shook his head.

"To be honest, I am unsure of where to look. Is it illusion, the illusion of trust?"

"No, no. Your spell enchants the target, making them more susceptible to your suggestions," Barin explained. "Why don't you follow me to the enchanting hall, and we can find some times that will help you learn to control the spell better."

The tiefling followed the dwarf upstairs and through a door. He blinked in amazement at the sheer volume of parchment, scrolls, and books inside the room.

Walking down a row, Barin pulled out a scroll, checking it before returning the vellum to the shelf. He examined another one, handing it to the tiefling with a smile.

"You can add these both to your book, and it will help you learn the spell more effectively," he said.

"Thank you, but I can't afford new spells-"

"They're a part of your training, and thus are covered by your fee for joining," Barin waved off. "Besides, you're learning to create scrolls. If you replace these, we'll consider it even."

"Deal. But I'm still learning to write, so it may take some time."

"These things take time. You are not going to become a mage overnight. Take your time, and be careful," Barin smiled.

Hope returned the smile, before carrying the scroll over to a desk. He pulled out his book with a quiet sigh, and began writing.

Mathira swayed on his horse, his body tight and stiff. He followed the others in the group of adventurers through the streets of Kalen, sighing in relief as they finally stopped in front of a tavern. He could use a drink.

The mage slid off his horse, landing on wobbly legs. A stable boy came out to help them with their horses, and Mathira handed him the reins.

Beside him, Nyaran snapped his fingers, dropping to the ground as his mount vanished. It was slightly unnerving; Mathira had never seen a conjuration spell last a full nine hours. Clearly there was more to the spearman than met the eye.

Shaking his head slightly, Mathira entered the tavern, approaching the young human behind the bar.

"Do you have mead?" he asked.

The man dipped a mug under a keg, filling it with a light, golden liquid.

"Five copper."

Mathira pulled a few coins out, sliding a silver over. The man behind the bar handed back five coppers as a woman entered the tavern, a life on her back.

"About time you showed up Keyleth. It's afternoon, time to get playing," the man said.

"I'm only a couple minutes behind," the woman shrugged, pulling off her instrument.

Mathira carried his mug to a table, sitting as Keyleth strummed a couple chords. He watched Nyaran enter the tavern, frowning slightly. Just who was their fighter?

The mage pulled out his cards, shuffling them slowly as he pondered a question. He rarely did personal readings unless asked. It felt like an invasion of Nyaran's privacy. Still, there was one question he could ask safely.

Is Nyaran dangerous?

His cards were laid out, only three of them for a simple answer. The Big Sky, the Snakebite reversed, and the Teamster. The fighter was forward, a good person who was driven by an unstoppable force…

Useless. The cards didn't tell him anything that could answer the question. But of course Nyaran was dangerous. He was supposed to be a killer. That made him dangerous. To Mathira, and to others.

"Mathira."

The mage looked up in surprise, scooping his cards back into his deck. Orain sat at the table, joined by Gwin and Heira. Nyaran was nowhere in sight.

"We're here, so we need to figure out what comes next. I asked the stable boy, and there's a tribe of elves in the woods," Heira said.

Gwin chuckled quietly.

"Yes, everyone knows about the elves," she said. "They are notoriously against shapeshifters. Perhaps we could enlist their aid in tracking down this elf."

"I will ask my cards what we should do," Mathira said, shuffling the deck. "They've been a little vague though."

"Eh, don't bother. We'll find the elf who fled Cadara, and ask him about the werewolf," Gwin said, gulping down an ale. "He has to know something."

"I doubt it will be that easy," Mathira muttered.

Still, he stowed his deck. One reading a day was plenty.