Tipping the Scale

The Man with No Fear (Part 1)

Of all the magical races, no people have sparked the imagination of humans as those of Neoire have. Regarded as the most graceful of all humanoid races, with an ethereal beauty and long lives that they devote to knowledge, art, and tranquility. They are often presented as the pinnacle of virtue.

A representation based on a shallow understanding of their existence, as little is known about their way of life. For as long as human history has been recorded, they have been described as a secluded people. Guests are rarely allowed and when present, will always be accompanied by an elvish guide.

Accounts by other, longer-living species, tell us that this wasn't always the case. In a report from the Huldralian merchant Sylviar Relaira some thousand years ago, Elvish cities are recorded on the southern coasts of Asmeon. Till this day, the ruins of these old cities can be found all over the continent. ~ The History and People of Magic by Sir Rainaldus Gale
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Warchief leaned against the door jamb as he watched Crystal perform her daily ritual. She sat on her knees on the cold hard ground and prayed to the dilapidated book in front of her. He had never been a religious man, not because he didn't believe gods didn't exist, but because he didn't think they cared a damn about them. If there were gods who allowed misery around the world to happen, then they were rotten beings that didn't need his devotion.

Looking at the book, it still made him uneasy even after all these years. Bound in a pale leather unlike any he had seen anywhere, it was dry and cracked. The title had long worn away and the pages were barely bound. Spots of what he hoped to be dirt, were caked on every page and made it hard to read the scratchy runes written within. One of the demon tongues, if he were to guess.

He had never asked about the book. Some secrets were better left untold.

The atmosphere in the room changed as if the air suddenly became lighter. Letting him know that the ritual was done. Crystal turned to look at him before she stood up in a fluent motion.

"Did you need anything?"

The sharpness in her words, almost made Warchief roll his eyes but he refrained. It wasn't often that he needed to drill some sense into the much older demoness, but here he was.

"I'm planning to take Lidea out with me to the city. The Hûldral seal needs to be picked up and I think it would be good for her to be out of the caves."

The venom in her eyes as she waited for him to get to the point, would almost make him cower.

It was his luck, that she liked him too much and wouldn't consider hurting him. At least, that was what he told himself.

"I thought that you could come along to look at the bandage. I'm pretty sure it can come off now and outside it would be better for her not to wear it."

"The wound can't be in the sun."

Brother would be proud if he saw how patient I'm being.

"She will wear a hood. No problem."

He could almost see the fight in her eyes. It wasn't about the wound but that Lidea was safe here in the cave. After she had made her decision clear, it had driven the demoness's protectiveness to go into overdrive. Although he understood her concerns, he wasn't about to let her coddle a woman who had fought on actual battlefields and had everything taken away from her.

Yes, she was young, but under her circumstances, it was no wonder that she had matured early.

"Warchief is this necessary? What if someone recognizes her? Why take such a risk?"