All hail me
By raob9 - silver member
Submitted on April 03, 2026
I have no chapters yet lol
Note: there are no chapters, so just keep reading; it wouldn't let me put in all my stuff at once into one chapter.
Timbr scuttled madly through the winding tunnels, whooping excitedly, the small brown package tucked in her long, wrinkled hands bouncing with each step. She skidded to a stop in front of an oak door, then dashed off to the left, her bare feet slipping easily on the smooth white stones. The tunnel suddenly turned sharply to the right, and she tried to backpedal while turning, only managing to slam straight into the wall. She pulled back, teetering a bit, then scampered off into the tunnels again, giggling madly. “Elf!” the cry echoed through the tunnels, seeming to invert from all directions. Startled, she ran straight into one of the walls. She groaned, unsticking her face from the stone and rubbing her head ruefully. She looked up at her ears curiously, which had twisted towards the direction she had come, starting to glow blue. Lights and angry shadows appeared around the corner she had come from, and she took a step back, the grin slightly fading from her face. Shaking her head to clear it, she adjusted her grip on the package and hooted, darting to the right as her ears swivelled to remain pointing towards the lights. She turned a corner, narrowly avoiding the wall. Glancing behind her excitedly, she missed the window ahead, and fell head first through the glass. She landed painfully on a Spartbush, which would have cushioned her if it hadn’t been the Staink. Consequently, it was completely covered in thorns, several of which painfully cut/poked her gold, leathery skin. “Stop that elf!” So Umbre was awake after all, shgde thought angrily. ____s, how much Silverstone had she fed that man? Dazed, her vision cleared just in time to see two castle guards running toward her. Her ears had turned red as she fell, but the glow was slowly disappearing. ____ing ears, thought her half-conscious mind. Must have been what had alerted the guards. The guards neared, reaching out to grab her. She slipped under their groping hands, snickering as she unhooked a knife from the back pocket of one. ______s, these guards were so slow! When she had a castle, she’d certainly choose her guards better. She ought to mention that to Umbre, she thought. Maybe she could recommend some. She hopped onto the garden’s wall, tittering as the guards’ heads collided with a satisfying clunk. One fell to the ground, groaning, and the other spun, Fury lighting up his features, his face beginning to glow red. Timbr could’ve sworn she saw red smoke spewing from his nostrils. “You _____ing elf—” She sniggered, then leaping over the wall, landing outside of the gardens and running across the courtyard, jumping over a horse as it was saddled, causing it to rear in fear, knocking the grooms aside. “Close the gate!” came a cry. The castle gate began to close, and she put on a burst of speed, her ears turning yellow. Cackling hysterically, she slipped through the gate just as it ground to a close. Too late, the pursuing guards collided painfully with the iron gate, and she laughed gaily at the sound. In moments she was lost to the bustling marketplace, just another commoner shopping for the day’s bread. When she was younger, she had thought it was safest when she was alone, but now she knew better. She glanced around for a busy stand, then leaned beside it inconspicuously. Raising her hand to her face as though to scratch it, she concentrated hard. At first nothing happened. Then the skin on her face began to pulse, faster and faster until it was a blur of gold. Slowly, the pulsing slowed. When it stopped, an entirely different face had appeared. A long scar had appeared, stretching from the tip of her eyelid to her neck. Her eye color had changed from a bright green to deep violet, and her nose was longer, more angular. A throbbing headache forced her to her hands and knees, groaning. It felt as though something was poking around inside her mind, twisting her thoughts and memories until they pinched her physically. The worst twist yet made her cry out. Through the pain she could barely make out castle guards shoving aside the crowd of commoners going about shopping, looking around. Undoubtedly searching for her. Through the pain, she somehow managed to stand up hesitantly, blinking rapidly and clenching her fists until her fingers turned white. She grimaced as her mind gave one more twist, then stopped. The pain slowly faded away, and she released her fists hesitantly, tense. She glanced at the guards apprehensively. They were still too far to see her clearly, but it was probably best if she moved on. She checked to make sure the package was still tucked in her dark green cloak and hurried off, away from the approaching guards. You could get lost in the marketplace if you weren’t careful. Even most low-named, who had been shopping there all their lives, only stuck to a few select stalls, knowledge of the whereabouts of the stalls passed down from generation to generation.
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becuase there is a character limit per chapter;
It wasn’t uncommon for a few stalls to be completely dependent on a single family – nor was it uncommon for families to provide one another with discounts. Timbr was an exception. Her only living family member was her ancient aunt, an elderly elf living on the outskirts of the town. Her aunt had served for _____ years at _____’s castle, before being forced to retire from her old age. Without a job, she had nearly starved to death, before Timbr had found her. Timbr had been forced to learn to navigate the mess of stalls in the marketplace at a young age, blending in with the low-named, elves (who were always given the lowest of names, and who made up at least half of the marketplace), some of the yet un-named humans, and a few other races, almost always commoners or low-named. The one advantage of not sticking to one or two stalls was that she could eat a variety, assuming she had money, which was rare. This meant that she knew almost all the shop owners, and they knew her. She squinted, just making out an ancient stall, purple wood half rotten. The sounds of commotion from the guards came from behind her, and she hurried forward, glancing over her shoulder. The first of the palace guards broke through a wave in the crowd, and she began to run, her cloak bouncing up and down. “There she is!” shouted one of the soldiers. Timbr put on a burst of speed, her ears turning yellow. She hit the door of the purple house, a splinter breaking off and embedding itself in her cheek. She banged on the door, panting from exertion. “___mg_!” Silence emenated from the seemingly abandoned store. She glanced behind her. The soldiers were too close. “__mg_! Open – The – Door!” The guards were upon Timbr. She felt one reach out a hand, grabbing her cloak, then was pulled from his grip as the door opened and she tumbled into the shack. It was incredibly dark inside. Thick, black curtains had been draped over the windows, stopping all the light which would have entered from filling the room. A hooded figure holding a flickering light glanced at her, then pointed upstairs. Outside the guards were pounding on the door, which shook, threatening to give way at any moment. Timbr pressed a small bag of browms into the waiting hands of the hooded figure, which clinked in his hands as he stowed them away. He nodded almost imperceptibly, and she darted up the steps. To her left she spotted an old closet, and hurried towards it, barely managing to close it on herself before she heard the door burst open below.
“Where is she?” The speaker stepped up out of the rubble of the door, looking around at the rest of his companions, still lying in a heap and groaning. “Get up!” he snapped, Fury pouring from his body in red mist. The marks on his uniform identified him as a Captain, most likely a Promotion Name. ____mg_ stood upright and stumbled back, his old lamp lying on the ground, extinguished. The only light came from the Fury mist spreading from the Captain’s body. ___mg__ recovered his balance, looking up at the looming captain. “S-Sir--?” The rest of the guards slowly recovered, getting to their feet, a few even beginning to glow a bit with with red Fury mist. The captain pushed ____mg___ aside, peering through the darkness. “Blast it. Get some _____ing light in here. There aren’t any other exits – she can’t have escaped.” A few of the guards hurried to cut down the curtains. He turned to ____mg___, Fury mist spinning in the air, distorting the shadows. ___mg__ shrank down, huddling on the floor. “Tell us where she is – Now!” He emphasized it with a well-aimed kick, propelling __mg__ halfway across the room. “M-milord—You must have mistook my son for whomever it is you were chasing! He does tend to make a dramatic appearance at times, but I assure you he has never broken a law! He likely mistook you for some of his friends!” __mg__’s eyes flickered up to the captain, then quickly cast away his gaze as the captain kicked him again. “Do not lie to me, Sclav. I distinctly saw an elf wearing a dark green cloak enter your shop, obviously running from—” The captain trailed off as a shadowy figure began to descend the staircase, their footsteps echoing in the suddenly silent building. As they passed into the light, a dark green cloak could be made out, trailing over their shoulders. They stopped at the edge of the staircase, throwing back their hood. “You won’t believe this, pops!” The figure threw back their head and cackled, then seemed to forcefully collect themselves. “Benta and Soiler thought they could pass themselves off as soldiers! They chased me here – you gotta help me think up a way to get them back, or—” The figure broke off, apparently noticing the guards for the first time. He smircked, seeming to suppress a snicker, then shook his head and glanced at ___mg____ nervously. “Pops? What happened? I—” Again, he paused to chuckle knowingly. “Step into the light, Son.” ____mg___ said softly, glancing at the captain to gauge his reaction. Obligingly, the figure stepped forward. The light cast upon his face revealed him to be an elf, his tall ears and angular nose giving him away. Besides that, he had sharp eyelids, and a long scar from the tip of his eyelid to his neck. His eyes were a brilliant orange, with hints of red. “M-milord, as you can see—” __mg__ started, breaking off in alarm as the young elf laughed madly again before shaking their head and composing themselves. “A-as you can see, this is simply my son, Mirth, whom you may have mistook for—who obviously was wrong to confuse you as he looked similar to someone else.” The captain grunted, stepping up to Mirth and slapping him across the face. Instead of recoiling, Mirth shrieked with derisive laughter, then raised his hand as if he were to strike the captain likewise. __mg__ hurried over, restraining Mirth with some difficulty, then whispering something into his ear before going to his knees in front of the captain. “M-milord, I-I apologize, Mirth was unfortunately, erm, cursed, with one of Ambition’s… less prestigious names. He is insane, as I am sure you can see. Please forgive—” Mirth laughed again loudly. “—Er, f-forgive M-Mirth.” The captain snorted, turning away derisively. “Let’s go, men. No need to waste time on ____ing elves. Solder!” One of the guards snapped to attention. “Yes, sir?”. The captain began to walk to the door. “Report to Umbre: Captain Shimmer has found and executed the perpetrator.” “Yes, sir!” shouted the guard, Solder. He stepped over the broken wood, then began running towards the palace, disappearing from view in moments. The rest of the guards filed out of the stall, beginning to disappear into the crows. The last wisps of the Fury mist disappeared from Captain Shimmer’s broad shoulders, and he stepped into the hole where the door had been. “As for you, Sclav, be sure to have your son under control next time you let him wander around the marketplace. If you can’t, there’s always space in the graveyards. __mg___ bowed low, even though Captain Shimmer’s back was to him. “Of c-course, m-milord. I will do instant—” Mirth snickered, just loud enough to cut __mg___ off. “I-instantl—” Mirth let out a bark of laughter, then ran upstairs, the sound of a door slamming echoing through the building. “Instantly, milord. You are, of course, right. In fact, I ought to go do so right now. Please excuse me.” __mg__ began to clomp up the stairs, leaning heavily on the railing. Captain Shimmer snorted in disgust, beginning to step outside. There was a nagging feeling he coul’n't quite place, but he ignored it, stepping into the crowd, which hurriedly parted to let him through. He paused in the middle of the crowd, Fury beginning to twist and turn around him. He began to dash back towards the purple stall, Fury so thick it left a trail behind him as he ran. He’d heard that laugh before, hadn’t he? The elf that had infiltrated Umbre’s castle had laughed exactly like that! He should know – he had heard them! He pushed through the crowd, yelling “Guards! To me!”.
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agian
Timbr slowly let her face mold back to normal. She had almost succumbed to the insanity that time. She felt the familiar groove of her scar. Hopefully the guards hadn’t taken too much note of it – it would be difficult to explain how her scar matched another nonexistent elf’s scar exactly. She shook the last pieces of Mirth out of her head, passing another bundle of broawms to ___mg____. He had taken a risk tonight, which she could only hope didn’t ruin his reputation too badly. Things were hard enough for a low-named, and even harder for a low-named elf. She slipped out of the gaping hole where the door had once been, glancing left and right before disappearing into the rest of the marketplace, blending in with the crowd.
Captain Shimmer burst through the crowd, breathing heavily. The purple shop loomed ahead of him. He glanced at the guards behind him, then unsheathed his sword and kicked the wall beside the door, the sound echoing throughout the house. He stepped inside, closely followed by the guards, who fanned out, searching the entire building. They returned after some time with the report: There was no sign of “Mirth”, but after some searching ___mg____ was found, cowering in a corner, covered in tatters of fabric so he was almost missed, if he hadn’t been shaking. He was thrown on the carpet in front of Captain Shimmer, still clutching a dark green cloak. “M-m-my l-lord, Sh-sh-shimme-r-r! I-I-“ A well-placed kick by captain shimmer cut him off as he doubled up in pain on the floor, gasping as tears sprang unheaded from his face. “Filthy Sclav. Where is she?” When no response came, he kicked again. “Answer me!” Hes houted, voice rising. “The insane elf! Your son! Where?”. “M-m-my l-l-lord, I don—don’t understand. I a-am s-simply a m-merchant, I-I s-sell clothes t-to the—thee low-named, m-milord, I am s-simply a t-tailor, s-sir, j-just ___mg___ th-the t-tailor--” He cut off with a gasp of pain as Captian Shimmer pulled him up off the ground by his neck, extending his arm as he choked the poor elf. “When I ask a question, Sclav, I ____ing expect an answer! One little twist--” He squeezed ___mg____’s neck tighter, and __mg__ clawed at his neck, eyes bulging as the oxygen began to fade from his lungs. “—And j-just __mg___ th-the t-tailor is Gone. Got it?” ___mg__ somehow managed to nod, and Captain Shimmer shook him one more time, then opened his hand, dropping __mg__ to the ground. One of the soldiers rushed over, pulling off the metal white glove Shimmer had been wearing on the hand which had touched __mg__, replacing it with another glove before dropping the old glove to the side in disgust. Captain Shimmer smirked, kneeling down so he was level with the shuddering elf. “Now… tell me what you know.”
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and again
Timbr threw a final glass of MurSludge over her head, breathing out in relief. She had almost slipped into insanity that time, almost lost herself to the Changes. Almost become—screams came from behind her, and she spun around, unable to see anything through the crowd. The Mursludge slowly began to slip down onto her face, and she shook her head, turning back and pouring the rest of the Mursludge over her head, the slimy liquid slowly dissolving into her skin, reenergizing it. She had Changed for too long that time – maybe the insanity which came when she used her powers was somehow carrying into her SetFace? She waited another moment, then grabbed a towel, beginning to wipe the ecess Mursludge off her face. The screams came again, and she rubbed the last of the Mursludge from her face, blinking rapidly and looking around, growing alarmed as she realized others were uncomfortably hearing the screams as well. She dropped the towel, standing up and beginning to push through the crowd, narrowing her eyes as the screams continued. This wasn’t another hallucination. Her heart dropped as she saw the __mg___’s old purple building surrounded by soldiers. The screams grew louder, and she pushed through the rapidly thinning crowd, hearth thudding against her chest. She pulled out the knife she had stolen from her belt where she had stashed it. Soldiers began to file out of the broken door of the building, and she gasped, beginning to run. Though she wasn’t close yet, it was impossible not to miss the dark, red stains on the soldiers’ bright weapons. One of the soldiers raised a tattered cloak with a cheer, and her breath caught. She recognized the cloak all too well as belonging to __mg__. She was thrown back by the crowd as it surged away from the site, and she struggled to push through the crowd without losing her footing. She pushed through the edge of the crowd, in full site of the soldiers. Clutching her knife firmly, she stumbled forward. A firm hand on her shoulder made her slip, and someone behind her caught her, pulling her back into the crowd as the soldiers began to make their way to them. She spun around, surprised by the face of a tall _human_ boy/man/_, who was holding her back as she tried to run to the scene. “Let—Me—Go!” She snapped, trying to twist out of his grip. He fumbled, but managed to hold her back. “Shh--! You’ll only throw your life away!” She struggled, but he kept moving and adjusting his grip. “They’ll kill him!” The _human_’s eyes flashed. “He’s already dead, ___s! There’s nothing we can do.” “You don’t know that!” Timbr cried, tears springing to her eyes. “They wouldn’t have just killed him! He was an old elf! He—” “Harbored the most wanted thief in the realm? The thief with an ____80,000____ Browm reward on their head?” The _human_ looked down at Timbr, a pained expression on his face. “How did you—” “Look, Shimmer only gets called down for something really bad. They don’t want a Promotion Named just running around for nothing. The point is—Shimmer finishes the jobs he takes.” “I can’t just—” “____S!” shouted the human, his voice thankfully lost amid the crowd of chattering low-names surrounding them, who spoke louder as if to purposefully drown out his voice. “It’s not just about you.” Muttered the human, releasing his grip on her and stepping back. He pushed his dark hair back, breathing out heavily. “He helped you because you fought the Oppression. He helped you because what you did was right. He threw his life away to save yours. Don’t let his sacrifice go to waste.” The human turned away, glancing over his shoulder at the soldiers, then beginning to push through the crowd. She glanced back at the purple building, where soldiers where filing out, laughing in glee with each other. Captain Shimmer stepped out regally, holding a blood-stained sword. He raised it aloft, and the surrounding soldiers cheared sickeningly. She bit her lip, clenching the knife. She could kill him, just one Dash and a stab—She broke off the thought, the _human_’s words lingering. She would almost certainly die if she attacked them now. But—she darted after the _human_, suppressing the screaming coming from her heart, knowing the guilt would crush her later.
Screams echoed from a seemingly deserted shop, the deep purple paint so faint it was hardly visible against the gnarled wood. Ashlyn turned, brow furrowing, then quickly averted her gaze as soldiers began filing out of the building. A strange black mask covered her face, cloth with a strange pattern of cuts and marks on it. She wore a dark coat, the hood pulled up to hide the fact she was wearing a mask. Underneeth, her uncommonly keen eyes made out a huddled form lying in an odd posture on the floor just inside the building, and she bit her lip, clenching and unclenching her fists with every second that passed. A cry came from in the crowd, and she could just make out a young elf, struggling through the crowd, pain streaked across their entire face. Ashlyn narrowed her eyes, catching the faint glint of metal, and began to push through the crowd towards the elf. The elf began to move towards the soldiers, and Ashlyn suppressed a cry of fear and surprise. No elf had even the slightest chance against soldiers, and many of them were still bleeding Fury, lighting up the building behind them in a dark red. The elf stopped moving forward, and for a moment Ashlyn thought the elf was running in place before she realized a _human_ had got hold of the elf, stopping them from running towards the soldiers. Ashlyn sighed in relief, and turned back to the soldiers, who had finished filing out. What seemed like the leader lifted a blood-stained sword to the sky, Fury rippling through the air and rising, the red smoke passing over the blood sickeningly. The soldiers cheered loudly, as though they had just won some great victory, or done some good deed. The soldiers began to walk into the crowd, but for some reason it had gotten increasingly thicker, and the crowd now seemed unwilling to part, instead pushing back against the soldiers as they tried to push through. Ashlyn darted through the crowd, which parted for her, some even dusting Praise and blowing them at her. The commoners wouldn’t expect to see her again. Anyone who fought the Oppression was regarded with some form of reverence. She caught a bit of the dust on her finger, touching it to her forehead. She’d need the luck. She passed a shop neighboring the purple building, and pretended to observe the wares, watching the remaining soldiers out of the corner of her eye. Ashlyn spotted a cracked window on the second floor of the purple building, and began to walk slowly towards the wall. A soldier still stood in the doorway of the purple building on the adjacent wall, apparently guarding it. He began to turn towards her, and Ashlyn hesitated only a moment before she jumped, turning in midair and landing so she was flattened against the wall of the purple building. She heard his footsteps as he began to walk to the side of the building, and she began to scale the wall, the rough wood providing as many splinters as it gave handholds. She looked down, the outline of the soldier appearing around the corner of the building. A broken windowsill stuck out just above her, and she grabbed hold, the wood creaking with the effort. She pulled her feet up so she was hanging horizontally, and stilled, her dark coat strapped to her legs so it didn’t hang down. To the ordinary observer, she was effectively invisible, her dark clothing blending perfectly into the uneven wall, no shine eminent on her body. The footsteps stopped, and her heart began to beat faster as it always did in risky moments like these. An ordinary commoner wouldn’t likely notice her, but an alert guard had a higher chance. Luckily, most people didn’t tend to look up unless they spotted movement. She waited, heart pounding, the shuffling of the guard below sounding ten times louder than it was. Inwardly she cursed herself. She had rushed, and now was stuck, unable to see the soldier, too afraid to move and see him. The footsteps started again, fading slightly, and she waited a moment before turning the slightest bit to look down. The soldier had moved to patrol the other side of the building, still a threat, but no longer patrolling her side for now. She released her feet, swinging on the windowsill to gain momentum. The wood groaned in protest, but she was already in the air, flipping to land just beside the window. Fortunately, the window was a simple screen, made of incredibly tightly interwoven cobwebs at least an inch thick. It was just as strong as glass, if not more. The owner of the shop would’ve just paid one of the Webs in the town to do it. The low-named couldn’t afford glass, and besides, it was only easier for a Manipulator to hurt you if you contained his Concept – The Oppression could flaunt about with all the expensive Concepts they wanted, but when it came to practicality, nobody wanted to be carrying a hostile Manipulator’s Concept. She shook her head back into focus, then withdrew a strangely pointed tool from her belt. It had a small, pointed ball at the end coated in some shiny substance, and a spirraling spike on the other end. On the side of the tool was a double sided knife, one side a saw and the other a curved blade dripping in some strangely translucent blue liquid. She hit something on the tool and all but the pointed ball collapsed, showing an intricately carved handle. Carefully, she pressed the pointed ball against the cobwebs, pushing a small lever on the knife. She moved the tool in a circle around the cobweb-window, the ball rolling over the cobwebs and puncturing slight holes in the mataerial. Liquid poured from the ball, pooling in the holes and spreading across the cobwebs, dissolving them with ease. She slipped inside, her soft boots making virtually no sound against the hollow wood floor. The hall tilted up, extending into further darkness. To her right was a small closet, virtually invisible in the darkness. She paused for a second, second guessing whether she really should be risking so much just for a bit of information that there was no guarantee was here. She bit her lip – it was worth it. She took a step forward, replacing the tool in hre hand with two knives, their blades made specifically for assassins, dull-colored to prevent the light catching the metal. Pulling on metal gloves, she pulled out a small, oddly shaped vial from inside her belt, tilting it ever so slightly to allow a small, hard rock to fall out. Laying her knives carefully on the ground, she began to grate the rock onto the knives, the dust falling much faster than it should have, hitting the knives and hissing, steam rising from the blades. Where the dust around the knives, the floorboards hissed, sinking down as though they had melted. She got to her feet, stowing the rock and excess dust back in the vial and placing it in her pocket, before tearing off her gloves and picking up the knives gingerly. A winding staircase appeared on her right, and she took a step down, the wood creaking painfully loudly in the silent building. Grimacing, she stepped onto the railing, sliding down silently. A guard stood with his back to her in the doorway, and her heart dropped. She glanced around, then darted to the shadows to the left of the doorway, pressing her back against the hard and breathing hard to distill the sudden fright. She snorted inwardly. If only her aunt could see her now, Angmar’s deadliest assassin – scared stiff by one _____ing guard. It only went to show – She, too, was human. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she looked around, brow furrowing as she made out a dark, red, shiny paint trail which ended in the middle of the small room she had entered, more concentrated in the middle of the room, but spattering the walls as well. She knelt down beside a bit, extending then drawing back her hand. She finally shook her head, reaching out and touching a bit with one of the sharp, metal tips attached to her fingers which were designed for climbing. She pulled back in horror, jumping up and stepping back, gazing transfixed at the red substance on her fingers. This wasn’t paint – it was blood. Not just any blood, either -- Elven blood. It felt slimy on her fingers, not like human’s blood, and had a pattern to it, a bit like intricate tiling. She tried to wipe her hands on the wall, only succeeding in collecting more blood on her hand. She spotted a bit of fabric hanging from the wall, and used it to wipe all the blood off of her hands, stepping back and shaking her heads to get rid of the nauseating feeling. Something felt terribly wrong about the fabric, and she stepped back, looking at it more closely. Why was it hanging from the ceiling? And what was that hanging down from it—She took a step back, reflexively steeling her emotions, then ran from the room silently, hurrying away form the room, running down the dark hallway and skidding to a stop before she came into sight of the guard standing in the doorway of the entrance room. He had been joined by another guard, higher ranking by the look of it – maybe even Captain Shimmer’s second-in-command. Memories rose up, and she clenched her fists, burying her emotions, and pressed her back along the wall, sliding along towards the two guards who stood arguing. The higher-ranking guard spun suddenly towards her, perhaps noticing her shadow move in his peripheral vision. “Secure the borders once more.” She heard him snap to the other guard, then began to walk toward her, brandishing an orb which gave out light in a strange arc, spinning around in circles so the light flashed around and around as if it were in a lighthouse. She stilled instantly, holding her breath and making no sound. With her dark clothing, the only thing which could give her away was movement. No doubt that orb was Shimmer’s work, Ashlyn thought bitterly, which meant this guard was undoubtedly Shimmer’s second-in-command. The orb turned slightly red, and she stiffened. The change of light meant it could detect movement – and it would undoubtedly find her and shine on her once it found her. She shrank down slightly, stiffening. A voice in the back of her head whispered what she was about to do was wrong – then she thought of what she had seen in the room with blood, and her resolve deapened. The guard paused just a few feet away from her, holding out the orb towards her hiding spot with a furrowed brow – the orb had begun to swing to light her up more and more. Water began to materialize in the air, swirling weakly and shaping itself into a small hand, which darted among the clothing surrounding her, upturning the cloth. He took another step, and the orb began to hiss, the light seeping from it and beginning to float towards her. She knew the orb had found her – and that the guard would find her soon as well, or, at least, would see her if she didn’t act immediately. Exploding up from the fabrics surrounding her, she pushed her two knives simultaneously through his body, one through the back of his neck and the other through his heart, before he could even draw breath to scream. The strange substance she had grated onto her knives hissed with his skin, and she withdrew the weapons, stepping back two steps. The guard collapsed onto the ground, twitching once, then stilling. The poison continued to hiss through his body, and a part of her deep inside shuddered, horrified at what she had done. She pushed it away, burying it deep down, locking the gates of her heart within. Now wasn’t the time to lose her nerve. She stepped back from the corpse as a glowing sphere of light appeared above his body. She stepped back. She may have been a deadly assassin, but only a monster touched another’s Spark, no matter who they may have been in life. Quickly, she bent down beside the soldier, pulling out all sorts of trinkets from his pockets. She dug deeper into the pocket, blood oozing around her hand and squelching sickeningly. There! Her fingers brushed a cool metal pieace. She groped around in the pocket, realizing it was a small latch, meant to stop objects falling out if he was forced to turned out his pockets. She tried to open it, but it was stuck. Grabbing on the latch and pulling, she turned the pocket inside out, now able to examine it in the light. Some substance hung in the keyhole for the latch, a blueish iridescent jelly-like thing. She looked over, catching site of a bit of the water which had crashed to the ground. Sometimes a Manipulator’s power lingered in the object for a bit, and it was worth a try. She scooped up as much water as she could, pouring it onto the latch and waiting. The water rose up, then fell back down, splashing everywhere. It still retained a slightly jelly-like texture, however, so she darted back, scooping up more and bringing it over. This time, when the water rose it stayed hovering in the air, turning slowly into a long, thin tube. At the end of the string, the end of a key appeared. She thrust it into the lock, and the water wooshed through the keyhole, washing away the blue substance. She pulled a lock-picking kit from her bag, working quickly to unlock the latch. She thrust her hand inside, grabbing something inside, then wrenching her arm loose, her hand clutching a few bound leaves. She glanced at them, dropping them in her pocket, then jumped to her feet as the other guard returned, calling out “Sir, borders are secure, but all the cobwebs are gone on one of the windows—” He stopped as he took in the scene; Ashlyn standing above the limp body of his superior. “Wha— Guards! Intruder!” he cut off as Ashlyn vaulted over the small tailoring table separating them, punching the soldier in the head. He dropped to the ground, unconscious. She stepped away from him, then took off running through the marketplace, the jagged cobblestones harsh against her soft boots. The all-too familiar purple cloth of the castle guard’s uniforms loomed ahead of her, and she backpedaled, turning and pushing through the crowd. The crowd was thinner here, the remaining low-named ducking and hurrying away from the mass of guards. Her heartbeat quickened. She wasn’t used to being so visible, so noticeable. Hiding under rubble or running through the forest meant she couldn’t be seen – Either she was hidden among others or alone. Even blending in with a densely packed crowd was alright. But here among just a few low-named meant she was more noticeable. She could not only be seen, but could very well be noticed. And nothing could be worse for an assassin. She stumbled over an uneven stone, barely catching herself, and stilled for a moment. One of the guards began to approach her, his purple clothing a blur in her peripheral vision. __-_! She thought, then bit her lip. The only way out was to act like a common low-named. She groaned, standing up on exaggerated shaky legs, and began to hurry away. “Halt!” came the cry from behind her, and she stumbled to a halt, an icy feeling spreading across her body as she realized her bloody hand, still clutching the scrolls, was visible. Hopefully the soldier hadn’t read the runes – many low-ranking guards couldn’t read. As casually as possible, she began to turn, twisting her body so her hand was hidden behind her back. She shifted the papers, allowing a small knife to drop from her sleeve into her hand, emitting a soft click. The soldier approached at a leisurely pace, his footsteps deliberate. He’d want to extend this confrontation as long as possible; moments like these made otherwise low-ranking guards feel powerful. He took a step back when he noticed the mask on her face, but didn’t bother to ask about it. Soldiers were trained to assume all low-named were stupid and insane – he would probably think the mask a mark of her supposed insanity. “What’s that you’ve got in your hand?” He snapped, and Ashlyn adopted a confused expression. “Sir?” Ashlyn said quietly, proferring her empty hand to the guard. She turned her head slightly, knowing what was coming. The guard slapped her on the face, hard. She flinched, then slowly turned back to look at him, taking care to keep defiance out of her eyes. “The other hand, sclav.” He snapped, pushing her so she stumbled backwards, wavering a moment before recovering her balance. “Yes, sir.” She muttered, slowly holding out the papers, head down as a small, grey blade no bigger than her fingernail inconspicuously dropped into her hand, clinking softly. She held it gingerly between two fingers, the faintest drop of liquid barely visible at the tip of the dagger. She cringed at the faint sound of the blade clinking between her two fingers, but fortunately the guard was too preoccupied snatching the papers to hear. He scanned them, but after a moment his expectant face drooped, his eyes narrowing as he attempted to understand the words. Ashlyn could barely repress a faint smile. Dim-witted as he was, he obviously hadn’t noticed her swap the real papers for dull medical paperwork. At last the words became too confusing, and he thrust the papers back at her in disgust. “How in ____s does a filthy sclav like you have enough money to pay for medicine?” He snapped, glaring at her. She bit her lip, her mind racing to think up a good excuse, but was spared when he dismissed the thought. “Never mind.” He snapped, beginning to turn away. She exhaled in relief, tucking the papers back into her coat pocket. She had just turned when the guard called after her. Bracing herself, she turned back, plastering the same confused expression back onto her face. “Where’d the blood go?” he snapped, gesturing at the papers sticking out. He took a step forward, grabbing the papers from where they poked out of her coat before she could protest. He flipped through them quickly. They were completely white. He looked up at her, and she quickly tossed the knife clutched in her palm at him as he opened his mouth. He closed his mouth with a snap, hands darting to his throat for a moment as he tried to swallow. He staggered a moment, then shook his head, opening his mouth to berate her once more, then stopped and took a step back as the poison which had coated the blade began to work, working its way through his body. She wasted no time hurrying away from his staggering form. It wouldn’t kill him, only make him drop unconscious for a few minutes, and she didn’t want to be near when it happened. She pushed through the crowd, ducking her head as she headed to the edge of the marketplace closest to the forest. She burst through the final bits of the crowd, stumbling backwards to lean against a building and breathing in and out sharply. That entire adventure had been entirely too risky. She had almost been caught, multiple times – and it was doubtful her sources were even close to accurate. Captain Shimmer’s reputation was big enough to attract Scavengers, informants who lived off the rumors they spread. Still, it hadn’t been a total loss – she had retrieved the papers she was after. She glanced around quickly, then moved to lean against the city wall. The cold stones on her back reassured her, and she pulled out the papers she had stolen, breaking the seal and unrolling them. It was a lengthy list of prisoners who were to be moved. Naturally the guard wouldn’t be carrying around papers with the prisoners’ final destinations – the papers would only show where the prisoners were to be dropped off so another guard could pick them up. She scanned the tiny numbers, the parchment unrolling and dropping to the ground as she continued to read the tiny numbers. Prisoner 317. Broken. Drop: Kalex 81. Prisoner 912. Broken. Drop: Kalex 82. Prisoner 83. Broken. Drop: Kalex 82. She bit her lip, a drop of blood landing on the parchment. She paused for a second, reading the last name in the “Dangerous prisoners” section. Her first thought was that the blood had somehow concealed the words, but when she looked closer she realized she was wrong. Prisoner 832. Dangerous. Drop: 8092, it read. And right after it, the same thing: Prisoner 832. Dangerous. Drop: 8092. She huffed in frustration. Why were those prisoners’ names and drop points concealed? She scanned the rest of the parchment quickly, but no other prisoners had been covered. When she looked closer, though, it seemed as though the covering had been added after for the drop location.
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Thinking quickly, she pulled out another small piece of parchment and her Concealer, a small iridescent rock barely the size of her fingernail. Placing it over the list, she set the papers on the ground before carefully using a knife to grate a bit of the rock onto the papers. She waited a moment, then watched as black ink slowly began to rise to the paper she had placed on top. She waited a moment, then tore off the paper, peering down at the parchment. Sure enough, typed in small, red ink where the drop should have been concealed was printed “Kalex 1”. She sucked in a breath; Kalex 1 was the highest security prison in the capital – possibly the entire kingdom. She exhaled softly, and turned to the prisoners’ names, curiosity roused. For some reason, they hadn’t been revealed. She repeated the process carefully, but no matter how many times she tried, the ink would not separate. She clenched and un-clenched her fists, thinking. Why would they not want the prisoners’ names to be known? How would the guards know which prisoners to transport? She glanced again at the drop location – Kalex. She would find all her answers there – she didn’t have another option. She began to pack away her things, then froze at a sound on her right. She spun, unsheathing her knife and brandishing it, not caring how it looked to whoever had been watching her. The boy leaned against the wall casually. He couldn’t have been more than 18. He glanced at her, and she realized he had just spoken. She took a step back, tensing. He’d likely already alerted the guards – which meant she had to leave immediat— “Nice day out, isn’t it?” She froze mid-step, wobbled a moment, then regained her balance and spun back to look at him. He pushed his dark hair out of his eyes, then glanced at her, presumably waiting for her to respond. She didn’t, naturally. He turned away from her, leaning back against the wall. She paused, uncertain. The guards would have arrived already if he had called them… maybe they were waiting for him to give the signal? “Absolutely fantastic.” He continued. “Just the sort of day I’d want to hijack an arrest. Mm-hm. Wouldn’t want Captain Shimmer getting a promotion, now, would we?” He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, trying to gauge her reaction. She didn’t move, squinting at him. What was the purpose of all this talking? Most guards would have simply killed her on site. Taking her silence as a cue, he exhaled, clenching and unclenching his fists before spontaneously pushing off the wall and beginning to walk towards her. She stepped back, brandishing the knife. “Not another step.” She muttered just audibly enough for him to hear her, masking her voice as best as possible. He wouldn’t be able to track her face – her mask kept that hidden. But her voice… he might have a Register hidden somewhere. He stopped, holding up his hands. “Fine.” She stepped back once more, just in case, scanning the buildings. Where would the guards be hidden? ___s, why hadn’t she stayed alert? “I just…” the boy exhaled, softly, closing his eyes slightly so his eyelids flickered. A slow trickle of blood ran from his lip. She lowered the knife slightly, then quickly brought it back up as he opened his eyes. “I just want to talk.” He said, slowly lowering his hands so they brushed against his tattered jacket. “I just want to talk.” Her mind raced; if he worked for the nobles – or worse, was one himself – she would have likely already been attacked. Umbre was not known to be the patient type. Her pause was enough for him to quickly continue. “I’m looking for someone.” He said breathlessly. “Someone with experience.” She narrowed her eyes. Was he trying to recruit her as an assassin? She released the faint breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. If this was another assassination job, she was safe enough. The boy raised his hand, lowered it again, and raised it again, staring at it as he clenched and unclenched, searching for the appropriate phrasing. “Hunting.” He finally said, the word sounding bitter even as it left his lips. Ashlyn snorted audibly. “Not animals. Hunting things. Hunting people.” He snapped quickly, then held up his hand to forestall further scorn. “Not really hunting them. Finding them – rescuing them.” He appeared to collect his thoughts here. “Rescuing people. Please. I—” As he continued to ramble, Ashlyn began to slowly back away. He finally paused, looking up at her. She froze. “Please.” He almost sounded desperate, but she had to refuse. She could assassinate targets. But rescuing them – that was an entirely different matter. She shook her head, turning around and beginning to walk away. “Wait!” cried the boy desperately, darting forward and grabbing hold of her arm. She spun immediately, pushing him back and pressing the blade of her knife against his neck. He stilled, and she flung him against the wall, raising her knives, senses on high alert. He groaned, slowly getting to his feet after a moment and massaging his throat. She glared at him – was he trying to get himself killed? She glanced towards the marketplace nervously. Guards might have heard the scuffle; she had been careless. He seemed genuine, but he could easily be working for Umbre or some other stuck up noble. She glanced at him as he leaned back against the wall, breathing softly. “Please.” He whispered. “Please. You’re the only one I can think of. I—” He paused, gesturing wordlessly at the list she had dropped during their scuffle. She hurriedly snatched it up, wondering how much he had seen. He coughed. “His name is Ominity. Kalex 1. Please. I don’t know—I’ve looked so long. It shouldn’t have been him, I—” he broke off suddenly, gaze flicking to the marketplace, then eyes widening as he saw a group of figures in the shadows. Ashlyn’s breath hitched, as she recognized their uniforms: Dark black robes with yellow stitches, bright yellow boots just peaking out from under the folds. Quickly, she grabbed him by the arm, pulling him along as she began to run. She heard the group shout behind her and almost without thinking, she increased the speed. He stumbled, skidding on the rough rocks. She hissed in frustration, grabbing him by the sleeve and half-dragging him along, racing forward at inhuman speed. He managed to recover, running beside her. Unconsciously she began to leave him behind as she continued to go faster and faster. Voices which were not her own shouted unintelligibly in her mind. One shouted to go back and help the boy; the other encouraged her to keep running, to save herself. She thrust both away, searching for the third voice she knew was hidden somewhere deep in her consciousness. The boy cried out desperately as he stumbled again. She slowed, the voices vanishing with her inhuman speed. The world spun around her. She felt as though she was floating, that every motion she did was delayed as time rushed past her. She leaned forward, digging her heels into the ground, letting time overtake her. She turned partially, the movement taking far too long. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the boy stumble, falling on the ground. The gang was gaining on him as he struggled to recover. She shook her head. She would save his life now, then leave. He had caused her enough trouble now as it was. The world slowed to meet her speed, and she ran towards him, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him up, throwing him ahead of her. The gang’s members began to fall to the ground as they passed where she should have left. She gasped as she became one with the shadows for an instant. The voices began to scream again and she quickly thrust them and the shadow away from her, gasping as she stumbled away from the gang. A shadowy haze had surrounded them, making it impossible for them to see anything. She backed up quickly, shooting one last glance at them before running again, grabbing the boy by his sleeve and pushing him into one of the narrow gaps between the buildings. The boy slammed against a piece of metal and cried out in pain. She glanced at the gang behind them warily; some had escaped the whirling mass of shadows and were pulling their members out, one by one. She turned back to the boy desperately, wincing as she saw why he had cried out. A long gash spread down his leg, likely from when he had hit the metal. He grimaced in pain, holding his leg. Her heart stilled as she heard the thumping of the gang’s boots. Desperately, they began to make their way through the narrow gap. The tip of one of the gang member’s bright yellow boots appeared at the opening and they both stilled. She concentrated, exhaling as a tiny wisp of shadow burst from her breath, multiplying quickly. She clenched her fists, suppressing it from multiplying too quickly. The gang member poked a finger at the shadows which had appeared. She held her breath. Hopefully they hadn’t seen the shadow form. She gestured desperately towards the other direction, hoping the boy would have sense enough to continue moving. He began to painstakingly squeeze through, and she followed. The gang member on the other side of the shadow barrier was so close she could feel his breath on her face. Slowly, she began to back away, hurrying after the boy. They emerged not a second too soon as a long spear poked through the gap, piercing the air they had been in not moments before. She started to push into the crowd, then paused, spinning around as she heard a splintering crash behind her. The boy had hit boxes spread out near a vendor’s stand, and collapsed on the ground. Ashlyn groaned in frustration. How had she been dragged into saving his life? She had made an enemy of one of the most powerful gangs in the entire low-named network; She wouldn’t be able to show her face above ground for weeks. Clenching her teeth, she pushed through the crowd, hurrying towards him. “I can’t run anymore.” He said, sweat already streaming from the effort. She bit her lip angrily, glancing around the marketplace desperately. The gang wouldn’t have been far behind them. Gesturing at him to stay put, she took off through the marketplace. If the owner of the shop was who she hoped they were, maybe she still stood a chance.
Haakon watched the assassin run off, quickly losing themselves in the marketplace, and touched his forehead, wincing as his hand came off wet and sticky. Pain exploded from his leg, and he reflexively grabbed it with his hand, groaning as the pain increased. He drew back his now-red hand. His leg had a long gash running along it. He glanced around, then quickly stood up and pressed his back against the building, standing on one foot. The shopkeeper, an elderly elven woman, wordlessly moved past him, collecting the spilled onions and other vegetables. Instead of replacing some of them, however, she quickly tossed them into a leather sack. Soldiers tramped towards them and Haakon stiffened. They stomped towards him, and the elven woman quickly moved to block him from his view as she pretended to place vegetables back in one of the containers. He shot a grateful look at her and she smiled faintly. “You!” Shouted one of the soldiers, stomping over. The elven woman turned around obligingly. “Zir?” She said, bobbing a courtesy and smiling at the soldier. Her accent was faintly Kleian, but Haakon couldn’t pinpoint the exact location. The soldier thrust a paper at her. “Direct order from the lord. Hang these in your shop windows. Anyone caught helping them will be killed immediately.” He snapped before storming off. Haakon relaxed visibly, and so did the elf. She laid the papers on one of the boxes of vegetables and moved aside to allow him to stand up. She beckoned wordlessly to the side of her shop and he followed nervously. The assassin had told him to wait – or had they simply done that so they could leave him? The woman paused, and he half-jumped in surprise, landing painfully on his leg. The assassin stood before him. The assassin turned to the woman gratefully, taking the leather bag and passing another small bag of browms to the woman. The woman paused, then pulled out one of the papers the soldiers had given her. The assassin grabbed them, stared at them, seemed to want to say something, then shook their head, turning to Haakon. “This way.” They snapped, beginning to walk away. Haakon stood a moment, confused and overwhelmed, but at their hiss hurried to keep up. He tried to sneak a look at the paper the assassin had taken, but it was difficult enough to limp along beside them. Gradually, he began to fall behind, finding it harder and harder to walk with his leg. The pain was unlike any he had ever experienced. Finally, the assassin stopped, and he bit his lip, leaning back against the wall, struggling to stay upright. His pride kept him up, but it took all the concentration he had. The assassin glanced back at him, then sighed, walking back to him and motioning for him to lie down. He did so gratefully, and with as much grace as he could muster. The assassin pulled out a knife and Haakon cried out. Why had they brought him here if only to kill him? He quickly tried to move backwards but the assassin’s hand shot out and grabbed him by the collar firmly. He drew back his fist and hit the assassin in the head as hard as he could. The assassin recoiled momentarily and he got to his feet, beginning to limp away as fast as his injured leg would let him.
Ashlyn huffed frustratedly, standing up, watching the boy she had saved retreat into the alley. She put a hand to her face, feeling her skin stinging underneath her mask from his punch. As if he could’ve acted grateful for her help! Instead of letting her heal his leg, he had punched her, reopening wounds on her face. She glanced back at the paper the elven woman had given her, biting her lip. It was another wanted poster, pictures of a young elven girl and human boy on it. She narrowed her eyes as she saw the reward. 100 browms for the elf, and only 20 for the boy. The rewards should have been swapped – she had never seen an elf holding a reward over 10 browms. Elves were disposable, and not supposed to be smart enough to get away with anything. She tucked the paper away, musing over the information. She thought she’d seen the people before, but couldn’t place/assign their faces to a memory. She began to walk along the wall, keeping to the shadows. It was approaching dusk. She would have to hurry – the gates would close soon, and she needed to be out of the city before the gangs or nobles caught her. She wouldn’t be surprised if her and the boy’s pictures would be on wanted pamphlets tomorrow. She heard the first bell ring and jolted from her thoughts. By the time the second bell rang, the gates would close for the night. She couldn’t afford to stay inside the city another night—she had learned that lesson early when she had nearly been caught by the night patrol. Since then, she always spent nights outside of the city, where she was guaranteed not to be caught. The rest of the village was afraid of the beasts of the forest, but she had learned quick enough to avoid the dangerous ones and live in harmony with the others. Still, tonight was different – tonight, the Scraw, the gang they had run into earlier, would be looking for her, and she could not afford to be caught. Even if she did survive the night, she would undoubtedly be found in the morning – the guards would be on high alert for someone matching her description. She would have to leave the city for weeks until the guards forgot about her. She turned sharply to the right, spinning on her heel and walking faster. No, she could not stay inside the city another day. She hurried towards the gate, pulling her hood down to hide her mask from the guards. She had nearly reached it when she heard a whistle above her head. She ducked reflexively, hearing the sharp Thwack of the arrow as it slammed into an old wooden board beside her. She spun, cursing loudly as she saw the familiar yellow boots and then the black robes of the Scraw. ____ing gang leaders! Whoever had ordered the attack must be out of their mind, shooting arrows in plain sight of guards. A second arrow whistled by her, narrowly missing her head. She jumped backwards, skidding on the old cobble stones and ducking beside an old barrel. Quickly, she fumbled in her pockets for a Ward, glancing up. The gang had hidden themselves in her momentary distraction. She breathed a curse, holding up the Ward to the light. It was a small glass vial, in the shape of a circle and a hollow cylinder. A dusty, metal cork kept it sealed. Inside the circular reservoir swirled an oily, bluish liquid, and she shook it quickly. It began to fizz, then suddenly disappeared. She dropped it and hurried back, crouching and keeping to the shadows, which seemed to extend around her, hiding her from sight. She lost no time in getting away, counting down from a timer in her mind. It wouldn’t be long now. Her back came up against a splintering cart, and she ducked under it, hiding beside the wheels, overgrown with grass and covered in rust. She squinted, just managing to make out the Scraws’ uniforms as they approached her hiding place warily. She mentally mouthed the countdown, hoping she hadn’t overcharged the Ward. 10… 9… 8… There was a sudden, massive explosion with a flash of blue light, and she was thrown backwards. The cart above her exploded, blown back so hard that the wood was torn apart as though it were paper. Her scream was lost in the blast as she slammed against a store wall. She gasped in pain, her eyes fluttering. The collapsed forms of the Scraw and guards lay around the scene, unmoving. The last thing she saw was the large iron gate shuddering to a close just as she collapsed into darkness.
“I don’t want to eat.” Timbr sat hunched over the meager meal set before her, her cloak huddled around her, eyes still red and puffy. She pushed the bowl away, refusing to look at the boy who sat across from her. The building was small, but in no way cramped. A long, cracked table took up most of the space. Timbr sat in an ancient rocking chair, the wood creaking with each movement, threatening to collapse at any moment. The only other furniture in the room was a tall stump which had been converted into a stool on the other end of the table, where the boy from earlier in the market sat. A dusty fireplace which seemed as though it hand’t been used in years sat abandoned in a corner of the hovel, and a rusty old pot hung from the ceiling. It had been used to make the oatmeal, then cleaned with stormwater and left to dry. The only defining feature of the cottage was it’s proximity to the castle. While most low-named hovels where set far outside castle walls, beyond the market, in many cases right up against the city’s wall, this house was incredibly close to the castle. She hadn’t paid much attention to this fact when she had first arrived, but now that her mind was clearer, she thought she remembered the cottage actually being inside the castle walls. Another reason not to trust the strange boy who sat before her. The boy stood up resignedly, placing his fists on the table and exhaling. Timbr had learned his name was Chris. Naturally, he had asked hers in return. And naturally, she hadn’t answered. “You haven’t eaten anything all day.” He reminded her. She ignored him. He pushed the bowl back to her. “__mg__ wouldn’t have wanted this.” “You don’t—” She started to snap, then paused, the weight of _mg_’s death washing over her, just as fresh and raw as ever. She opened her mouth, struggling to get the rest of the sentence out. “--didn’t know him” she ended quietly, and abruptly fell silent. She clenched her fists, suddenly incredibly angry about everything around her. “Just go away! You don’t know anything.” Chris drew back for a moment in surprise at her outburst, then persisted. “What makes you think I didn’t?” He asked softly. She hesitated for a moment. __mg__ had never told her about another contact. She had always assumed she was his only client in the underground – she threw the guards off his trail, he hid her, she paid him. It repeated. She tilted her hair to look up at Chris appraisingly, then shook her head derisively. “Why would I even trust you? It’s not like you’ve told me anything about you. Not like __mg__ ever mentioned you. Not like you’ve explained why we’re sitting within inches of the ____ing castle!” She snapped, voice rising. He straightened quickly, then turned away, refusing to respond. “Fine.” She said at last, standing up quickly. She doubled over in pain at the sudden movement, suddenly realizing how weak she was. She hadn’t eaten in so long, and sleep was a distant memory. Chris turned, reaching out a hand, and she clenched her fists, straightening. She didn’t need his pity. She was Timbr, the most wanted elf in all of Anglosia! She breathed out, clenching her jaw and summoned her strength. She needed to be outside. She hurried out of the house, closing the door and pressing her back against it, breathing in the fresh air gratefully. She pushed herself forward, and stumbled down the rickety stepping stones. Her ears turned a faint purple, and she felt her fatigue and hunger slowly slip away. The feelings were only stifled for now, but it was enough to clear her head. She took in her surroundings carefully. The castle walls were just visible over the tips of the buildings, and she shuddered. She had been right – the cottage was actually within the castle walls. In the distance she could just make out what must have been the stables. It was approaching dawn, and the servants were already stirring, hurrying about the stables. She heard many hoofbeats coming towards her, and she stiffened, glancing around before darting into the undergrowth beside the cottage. She was just in time. Around a corner, not a hundred feet from her, came a train of warriors. By their uniforms, she saw most were either destroyers or manipulators. She frowned. Destroyers and Manipulators were almost always employed in the army… But why were they here? Her question was answered as the rest of the group came into view. A tall, regal man sat atop a broad horse. He held himself like a Noble, and inwardly Timbr scoffed. As though that man was in any way a good person. He may have a high social rank on the outside, but on the inside he was as low as could be. The train continued past her, and she narrowed her eyes. The Naming was coming up – a time when eligible youth completed a series of tests to receive their power name, granted by the Obelisk – but it was still far too early for nobles to be arriving. The Naming wouldn’t happen for many months yet, and besides, why had this noble brought a group of warriors? She watched the end of the group disappear behind a building, and counted to one hundred before standing. She walked towards the path they had walked on. A small piece of fabric caught her eye, and she stooped, picking it up and inspecting it. It was a Balm, a small cloth the higher nobles used to rub their hands with before using their power. The nobles thought using Balms placed them above the others – she thought they merely looked stupid when using them. It was a dark purple, and a gold symbol of an entwined cobra and a tiger sat in the center. She stared at the symbol for a long moment. Hadn’t she seen it before? She sighed, clenching it in her fist and stuffing it into her coat pocket. She felt another pain in her chest and hissed out in pain, then slowly straightened. *am still writing; will add on in another chapter section.*
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yoooooooo give me comments please
Comment by raob9 on April 13, 2026Liked by 0
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