Eternal Beasts

Leverage

Nikeera frowned as she looked at herself in the tall mirror the small apartment Aaron had lent to her, contained. Draped over her were the motley leathers and fabrics of what the king's clothier assured her were Lucht Taistil clothing. Yet, she had her doubts. In her time, the Wandering Folk were proud and resourceful, dressed in well-made clothing of their own make. Had they descended from that lofty height in the five thousand years since? Because the clothing she now wore looked as if they belonged on a beggar, or a vagabond.

She sighed as she pulled down the tattered hood that she would be using to hide her magic highlights. Of course, it could just be more Tuatha Fáil arrogance painting the Lucht Taistil out as vagabonds as far as they were concerned. If you weren't inside the walls of the grand city, you were obviously a beggar or a vagabond.

- Honored Watcher, - she said, fighting to keep disappointment off her face as her critical eye examined her disguise one more time. - Please tell me the Wandering Folk haven't become beggars in my long absence. -

- They have not, Princess, - the ancient entity replied.

- Then why has Aaron's clothier dressed me in tattered rags when I asked for Lucht Taistil clothing? -

- I believe you already know the answer to that, Princess, - the Watcher indicated, eliciting another sigh from the frowning tuathan woman.

- Sadly, I do. - She pushed aside her frown. If she was going to do what she could to help Jared gather allies, then she needed to get going.

Turning away from the mirror, she scooped up the pack stuffed full of supplies and threw it over her back.

- Do you have an image for me, honored Watcher? - she asked and smiled as a picture of a glade somewhere close to the Kasidian appeared in her mind.

The two scouts frowned as the light from the portal faded and they found themselves looking at what appeared to be a tuathan woman, if they were to judge by the figure's build. But she was tall, as tall as they, and carried herself regally despite being sheathed in rags.

"Nock but do not draw," the senior of the two murmured. And, when he nodded, he carefully stood from cover to hail the figure.

"Stranger! You've portaled in close to the perimeter of our camp. State your purpose here so we may determine whether you are a threat."

The hooded head turned towards him.

"My name is Nikeera," she said in a clear, melodic voice, speaking westerling as he did. She then switched to Iesho, the tongue of the tuatha.

"And I seek to speak to your caravan master about a matter of great importance to all Tuatha!"

Seth was carefully fletching a handful of arrows out in front of his tent when the small company found him, the scouts joined by a quartet of sentinels that guarded the camp proper, to walk the stranger into the battered caravan's interior.

"Unless you're a two meter tall nysim god of war with a golden left eye that I'm supposed to escort to Findias, you're in the wrong place, stranger," he growled as soon as they were within earshot.

"Not quite," the stranger said as they came to a halt in front of him. She then threw back her hood and the scouts and sentinels both murmured in surprise.

"But I think I'm in the right place regardless, if you know Jared."

That snapped Seth's head up. And he quickly found his eyes widening in astonishment. The speaker was a high elf! But she was no ordinary Tuatha Fáil from the city. For one thing, she was easily the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, with those purple eyes, dusky skin, and magic-touched hair. But beyond that, she wasn't swathed in the silks and linens the cityfolk favored. Instead, she wore tattered leather and homespun, a traveler's pack over her shoulder. She bore no weapon but, if her hair was any indication, she knew the lost magical arts of the Tuatha and needed none.