Elder Relics and Lost Virtues

In the heart of an ancient temple under the giant tree of life, deep within its forgotten corridors, lies a bronze amulet adorned with the purest emeralds, resting on an old cloth atop a limestone altar. The relic has remained untouched for now, protected by the guild of the council higher up in the tree, and here by unseen traps that ward off intruders. But perhaps not from everyone...

A hooded figure, clad in studded leather armor and draped in a blue cloak, strides through the final corridor leading to the amulet. After a quick survey of the room, a swift wind begins to swirl around their legs, lifting them gracefully off the ground. The mysterious figure, now levitating on a cushion of air, drifts towards the altar, the bronze relic nearly within reach.

By avoiding the ground and the traps below, the figure lands safely before the altar. With deliberate care, they reach beneath their cloak and retrieve a scroll inscribed with the symbols of the Arcane language. Holding the scroll open, they recite the incantation: "Capiu, malodictis, velera quecunqua vi detiskerin, omne vigoral domiseres, et qecquide in tem est liberacta." A shimmering veil of white energy envelops the amulet. The figure rolls up the scroll, tucking it back into their bag, and then carefully takes hold of the bronze amulet. After a cautious glance around, they secure the amulet in their bag and use the wind to float back to the corridor from which they entered.

With the wind at their back, the figure races through the temple's maze, darting around corners and down hallways, evading the traps and pits they previously dodged. They ascend a spiraling staircase in the temple's center, and upon reaching the top, they pull down a lever. Slowly, a massive stone slab shifts aside, revealing the entrance to the grand library above. But as the figure emerges, they are met by a dozen armed soldiers, blades at the ready. Their armor is etched with gold linings and intricate symbols, and on their backs, they bear the emblem of a golden tree.

One of the soldiers, a young man with short blonde hair and ears that mark him as neither fully human nor elf, steps forward and removes his helmet. "Faelana Shatora," the captain says firmly, "you are commanded by the guild to stand down and cease your thievery."He adds, "You will come with us and be escorted to our camp until the council decides your fate."

The cloaked figure pulls back her hood, revealing a young woman with pale skin, long ghostly white hair, and eyes as grey as ash. She responds steadily, "I know my rights, Rolim. I demand to be judged by the King of Iucari. The council has no authority over my fate."

"Your rights?" Rolim scoffs. "You just attempted to steal the Amulet of Life from beneath the Tree of Ytia—a crime against the most sacred of laws. And now you expect to stand before the King because you know he favors your kind? The Tree is under the guild's protection, and it falls within the council's jurisdiction. You have no choice in the matter."

Faelana smirks. "If it's so precious to you and your council, maybe you shouldn't have made it so easy for me to reach the relic. You've changed, Rolim."

"I've changed?" Rolim retorts, his anger rising. "You're the same as ever—a rogue, a thief, stealing from others. Don't try any of your tricks on me, Motus!"

She responds coldly, "Pretty rich words coming from a hybrid. Remind me, was it your father who raped that elvish slut during the raids on Imperon, or was it your whore of a mother who welcomed your crusading father between her legs?"