Evermoure

Deliverence

Flattened against a cold stone wall, Enphyra held her breath as a stream of female servants passed her in a narrow hallway. Once the sound of their low conversation dissipated down the corridor, the Lae Elf slunk off with Ethera’s hilt clutched reassuringly in her hand. The passageway spilled into a great hall, and Enphyra slowed to take it in and look for her next exit. Great stone pillars ran from floor to high ceiling, and fires roared from multiple furnaces and torches throughout the room. Tapestries lined the walls, keeping the heat in, and a great throne sat at the end of the hall. A flare of alarm rose in her when she realized that, from the grandeur of this room, it might’ve been the late-king’s hall. As she skirted toward a promising door, something extremely intriguing caught her eye, and halted her in her tracks.

One of the tapestries that hung from the massive wall was the magnificent bust of a High Elf. Very little artifacts from the High-Elven Empire were left from the War of Flames, centuries ago. The sight of such a pristine piece of art physically shocked her. The possibility of such an item still in existence was highly unlikely, and the fact that it looked un-aged was near-impossible. As Enphyra regained her bearing to leave the dead king’s hall, still crestfallen and glancing back at the tapestry, a figure entered the great room near the dark throne. She paused instinctively, her pulse thudding in her ear as she edged toward the nearest door. The figure was cloaked and hooded, heavy boots sending echoing footfalls through the acoustic room as they peeled off the thick gloves covering their hands. Snow caked nearly every inch of the dark cloak, and the figure used the gloves to beat the evidence of being outside off the ice-crusted garment. Enphyra averted her eyes from the lone person, keeping her steps silent.

“I can see you, you know.”

Halting in alarm, panic flared like a hot iron through Enphyra from the figure’s words. With a rocketing pulse, she clenched her eyes shut and focused on the Shroud of Ghaela.

It had never faltered.

Trying unsuccessfully to calm her mounting horror, she glanced down the hall toward the throne, where the northern stood, their face dark under the hood and trained toward her.

This isn’t happening, Enphyra thought in fright, clutching the hilt of Ethera. She could only see the dark tip of the figure’s nose and his mouth. The lips were parted as he waited for a response, the firelight dancing just below his eyes. He tsked.

“Are you a Lae Elf?” The voice was deep, dangerously low, with a hint of what sounded like sincere inquiry. Enphyra was stricken. “Not many of your kind left, and here you are slithering through my halls... What have you got there, do tell? And I don’t mean the sword.” The low voice carried the slightest hint of a mocking tone, like he was talking to a child. His lips pressed together and drew into a stiff smile as he clasped his hands behind his back, his face falling to regard the floor as he moved slowly and ponderously to the black throne. Turning and dropping into it, his eyes glinted in the firelight of torches as he flicked his cloaked head up. Lounging back against the seat, he propped an ankle up on the opposite knee.

“Speechless already, and I haven’t even taken the hood off yet,” he muttered as he scratched at his chin. “And yes, I can see through the Shroud.” Just as Enphyra spun to make a dash for the door, she came face-to-face with two servants. Controlling her panicked breathing, she turned again to see attendants with trays and... concubines, it looked like, entering from most exits. As she looked around wildly, she realized none of them were looking directly at her. Only the cloaked man could see her, which in itself should’ve been impossible.

“Reveal yourself, Lae Elf. Don’t make me come and get you.” Enphyra grasped Ethera, forcing the alarm out of her mind. She looked squarely at the glint of the cloaked man’s eyes, controlling her fear. His smile was crooked. The servants in the halls all quieted in alarm at the sound of Ethera sliding out of its sheath, and Enphyra reached into the bag to pull out the transportation device. The cloaked man chuckled in dark amusement as she knelt to place it on the middle of the floor, staying in contact with it to keep it concealed from the servants. Drawing a deep breath, she began to prepare herself mentally for her last remaining option.

Enphyra readied the transporter, spreading the thin and folded metal device flat against the floor. It pulsed with a soft light as she activated it, and she began uttering low words of old High-Elvish, magical words. Slowly, she felt the Shroud of Ghaela leaving her, traveling over her body and passing into the technology under her fingertips. With closed eyes and continuous chanting, she ignored the gasps of surprise from all around her. Just as she finished the process of transferring the Shroud permanently from herself to the device, she sent a loving prayer to Amoreus.

When she looked back up grimly at the man on the throne, she knew all could see her. The sound of his slow clapping resounded through the hall, and he sighed as he leaned forward and paused.

“Old High-Even magic. Lae Elves are the last ones left with the ability to utilize it. To an extent of course, but well done.” He stood from the throne, approaching her slowly. “My turn.” Enphyra stood to take a step back, brandishing her rapier. The figure stopped to gaze down at the floor, hands behind his back. Enphyra couldn’t even see the device anymore...

Crouching, he held a dark hand over the floor, a light pulsing from his palm. The transportation device was revealed, the Shroud gone. Enphyra couldn’t believe her eyes. It was whirring softly, beginning the process of warming up before it could be used. The man pulled a sword from his back, a leering smile playing at his lips from under the hood as he let the giant blade catch the flickering torchlight. With a downward swing of the greatsword, the transportation device was for use. Enphyra’s heart shattered with the device. Using the sword to rest upon, the figure pulled back the hood of his cloak to grin down at Enphyra with deep, hooded eyes.

The figure was a High Elf. The one from the tapestry.