Daughter of Wreath

I'm jarred to my senses by the witch's voice, the pounding of my heart gradually slowing back down after having just narrowly escaped an encounter I was quite unlikely to survive. Part of me is still horribly worried that Pinzak and the rest will decide to double back around and take their chances with me, a rematch I have no means of walking away from - there's no chance I'll be able to mimic Big Petunia twice in the same day, assuming I ever even get the opportunity to touch it. With that fear fresh in my heart, yeah, I'd better let the witch out sooner rather than later.

"Uhm... yeah, yes, sorry," I shake the nervous haze from my thoughts and turn to inspect the cage, immediately overjoyed when I see that the key, a small, gnarled metal thing, remains inserted in the cage's external lock. It seems either Pinzak does sloppy work (which... seems possible) or I really arrived at the exact perfect time, only moments after this elf woman was captured and before she'd been properly 'processed.' As I busy myself with wiggling the key into its proper place and trying to open this dark iron prison, I cast my eyes up to get a better look at the woman I'm actually freeing. She's... a bit more unusual than I'd thought at first glance.

Sheis, indeed, an elf. Though I confess to knowing precious little about their various factions and ethnicities, her impressive height, willowy build, and long, pointed ears give her away as something distinctly different from the humans I'm much more used to. Her skin is paper-white, her hair as black as crow's feathers, long, straight, fine, and hanging well past her shoulders. The right side of her head, though, has been shaved smooth, instead bearing some bizarre inscriptions that seem to have been intentionally scarred into the flesh - faint from age, but still very much visible. Her clothing consists of a great deal of black leather and cloth, all in strips and patches that cover most of her, while leaving occasional glimpses of pale flesh visible, and obscuring little of her general shape - long legs, slim hips, poor posture, and what appears to be a nearly, if not entirely, flat chest.

Her eyes, yellow like a hawk's and messily caked with black makeup, follow mine as I study her, taking a moment to study me right back before giving comment. "You gonna actually open the door, bug, or do ya need a little longer to stare?"

"Right, yes, sorry, it's just... I'm not sure which way the key turns, and-"Click. I slide the key out and pop off the lock, letting the cage door swing open at last, and the lanky witch within finally slither free, stretching out her long, slender limbs as if she'd been trapped for a century, rather than... well, probably a few minutes at most. "There we go! Sorry about that!"

"No sorries needed," she says, flashing a grin my way - and I notice that her left upper canine has been replaced by a long, steel fang, yet another of her oddities. "You saved my ass, and that's not something I plan to take lightly." She leans one hand against the side of the cage, taking another good, long look at me, as if trying to make some sort of decision. "Kiiinda curious as to why you came out here in the first place, I gotta say. You don't look like a townie - don't look graicean at all, if I'm bein' totally honest - and most people avoid me and my little shack like a bogge with a bad case of the Shakes."

"It's... sort of a long story," I sigh, finally starting to fully relax now that it seems the bounty hunters have no intention of returning. "I heard you might have seen someone, someone I'm trying to find. Oh, uh - my name's Nowa, by the way! Nowa Jarren."

"Oh, introductions, huh?" the elf says with another crooked smirk. Straightening her back, she flourishes one arm outward in a deep, exaggerated bow. "Then you have the pleasure of rescuing Vexabeth Inithel, small-time necromancer known locally as the Birch Witch. My friends call me Vexa, and since you've saved my life from piece-of-shit merc inquisitors, I'd say you've earned the right as well." Wait, she has friends?...Where?

"Vexa, then," I offer her a small smile back.

She sweeps an arm towards her little shack. "Alright, if you have questions, there's no way I'm answering them sober - not after allthatlittle bit of business - so let's head inside and have a cup of something spicy.Mai valara, thou mísil." Her last words are in the elf-tongue, and while they aren't known to me, their general meaning is. It's an extension of hospitality, something along the lines of 'my fire, your warmth.'

I follow her towards the strange little hut, which ends up being a bit larger than I'd first thought, if not... by very much. The interior is dimly-lit, rarely-cleaned, and horribly cluttered, though I don't get the impression that Vexabeth is a hoarder - rather, to my layman's eye, this place looks to be as much a laboratory as it is a home, a sort of magical workshop in which multiple projects are continuously ongoing. An alchemical station is scorched and discolored from experiments gone wrong, loose sheets of parchment inscribed with odd glyphs or designs lay scattered all over, and artificial segments of human bodies (that I can only assume are being used in some sort of rudimentary golemcraft) seem to pop up in every nook and cranny of the awfully cramped wooden structure.

Amidst all that, though, the elf manages to make her way to the stove, within which a squat, hateful little blob of fire sits magically chained, and sets a soot-stained black kettle atop it. A swift, booted kick to the side of the stove agitates the bound spirit within, drawing a muffled squeak of fiery rage and a fit of impudent thrashing that sets the metal box heating up nicely. "Gotta keep these little fucks on their toes," Vexa shoots another grin at me, then topples into an overstuffed violet seat, gesturing for me to sit on the matching ottoman close by.

I accept the seat with some uncertainty, unsure if I should start talking, or if she has some sort of-

"Well, out with it, then!" the elf barks, and I take note of the lower musicality of her voice - not that her voiceitselfis deep, but that it frequently tends toward deeper notes rather than higher ones, a trait that imbues her with a kind of twisted authority. "You said you have questions, well, maybe mama's got answers. You said you're looking for someone, li'l bug?" As she speaks, she withdraws a slim, bone-white flask from a small end table beside her seat, uncorking it and taking a long swig, then tossing it to me.

I catch the flask, eyeing it for a moment, then hesitantly uncorking it. No clue what's inside, but... time to find out, I guess? "I'm looking for a woman; I heard she stopped here some time ago - weeks, maybe months. She would be a bluffsider like me, but taller, older. She came to town asking about magic-users, and may have headed in your direction." I consider sniffing the liquid, but instead just take a risky sip, immediately reeling from the taste and doing my best to hide it. It tastes like a campfire, like smoke and flame and wood, extremely strong but not sweet at all. I force myself to swallow, then let out an involuntary couple of coughs, which brings a wide grin to Vexa's face.

"Good shit, eh?" she says, grabbing the flask back from me and taking another swig of her own. Letting out a long, slow breath, she visibly savors the burning draught, while contemplating my quarry. "Another bluffsider... yeah, I remember. That was nearly a season ago, now. Strange, strange lady." Those yellow eyes turn towards the ceiling as she tries to gather scattered memories, wrangling them back into conscious thought. "Brilliant, though. She had all these notes with her,crazyshit, research into myths, legends, curses, monsters, weird theories about the nature of Those... a lot of really impressive work that didn't align with my own fields of research in the slightest." Her tone changes a bit, less laid back, more professional, like focusing on an academic topic brings her a bit of clarity - or maybe it was the booze. Who could say.

"Didn't align? I thought you were a witch - or, necromancer, whatever it was. You do magic!"

"Oh, and everyone who does magic has the same specialties, hmm? Magic ishard.Very fuckin' hard. Everyone has a limited window of time to practice it, so you do what's most important to you; nobody dabbles. This woman you're after had such a narrow field of interest I think half of the shit she was saying was made up."

"Wait, a limited window of time?" It's quickly occurring to me just how little I actually understand about magic. Mom talked about it sometimes, more in a reverent than a practical way. Said she knew some, but I never saw her actually do it. Whatever 'it' would have even looked like.

"Shit, you bluffsiders really don't get around much."

"We do not."

"Alright, I'll keep it real simple for you," Vexa shifts to face me, long legs dangling over the arm of her seat. "Magic is like learning to cook, or paint, or whatever. Being talented helps, but anyone can learn how to do it. How magicdiffersfrom baking a delicious lotberry tart is that it feeds on the user. Casting a spell can take anywhere from seconds to years off your life. Hence why goblins don't fuck with it, and all the 'great magi' tend to be elves - longer lifespan, more to give in service of mastering the craft."

"So - wait, how old are you, then?"

"Baby, we justmet, surely your mother taught you better than to ask a lady her age," the elf feigns offense, though her smirk quickly creeps back onto her face, showing off that single metal fang. "Not that it would mean anything to you if I told you. But... back to this woman you're looking for." She tosses the flask back to me, and my second sip is much more tentative as she continues. "Her research was all on some really ancient stuff, and a lot of weird theories about different creation myths. Stuff about monsters, about humans. Most of it, as I said, totally out of my... sphere. But there was one thing I knew enough about to give her a lead."

"I'll take anything, at this point. After you the trail goes cold, I'd just be... wandering east, hoping to bump into her," I sigh.

"She was really interested in the Shrine of the Second. One of - if notthemost important 'human' artifact. Orconsideredto be human, anyway."

"I'll bite - 'considered'?"

"Well nobodyknows, really. Everyonethinksit's a human relic. The location and design line up, but there's no actual recorded history of its creation or purpose. Not that humans hold a torch to the elves or the shokari - even the zura, actually - when it comes to properly documenting their history, so it's totally possible that it slipped through the cracks." Vexabeth shrugs. "Supposed to be pretty impressive, according to the few people who've seen it. I only read little bits and blurbs about the thing."

This is the biggest piece of information I've gotten yet. I know what she's looking for, at leastonething she's looking for, even if I don't really understand why. "And... and you said you know where it is?"

"I do! Or, well, I think I do. It moves around. Which I understand is an odd thing for a physical location to do, but... yeah, I dunno, I don't make the fuckin' rules. Last I heard it's somewhere beneath Tague, so she's gonna have her work cut out for her if she wants to find it."

"Tague?! The goblin city?"

"Eh. Sort of a city-state. But yeah."

My heart sinks. Tague is deep into Graicea, and, as Vexa suggested, doesn't really consider itself to bepartof Graicea. I have a good bit of wandering left to do if I'm going to catch up, but... at least I have a direction. After a moment, I let out a sigh of resignation. "Tague it is, then," I say dejectedly. "It's going to be quite the walk."

"Well," the elf says, but is interrupted by the heating kettle beginning to whistle. She makes her way to it, dropping a matching pair of sachets into a non-matching pair of cups, pouring hot water into both and then handing me mine - a simple mug made of cool gray clay, its handle a little too small, otherwise undecorated. "At least you won't have to make the journey alone."

"Uh?" I grunt, waiting for what I assume is tea to steep, though Vexa's already taken a sip from her own.

"I'm coming with you," she says firmly, dropping back into her seat.

I blink. "I, um... excuse me?"

"The Order has me in their sights. Pinzak won't be the last goon they send, so I clearly can't still be here when they do. And fuck, if anyone's gonna go find the Shrine of the Second, I sure as shit wanna be there for it."

Her words don't leave much room for argument. I remain stunned for a moment, but... yeah, there's not really much I can say, besides "Alright, I guess."

"There's a good bug," she flashes a crooked smile. "Alright, drink your tea, I'll start gathering up everything that can't be left behind. Maybe let a few of these spirits loose, too...."

I remain perched on the ottoman for some time, occasionally sipping at the mug of tea (which has an earthy, spicy aroma, though its rather astringent on the tongue) and watching as the witch, Vexabeth, busies herself around the hut. Much of what clutters the place - the golem parts, failed experiments, half-finished research - is ignored or just rearranged a bit, the lanky elf mostly gathering things she can't live without, along with some notes, scrolls, potions, journals, and bits of preserved food for the road. She does indeed, too, release several spirits that had been somehow bound to her service, including a jagged, vaguely-humanoid creature of pure whiteness that had been providing light, the angry little orange blob in the fireplace, and a fuzzy black lump with spindly limbs that appears to have been tasked with keeping the floor clean. I'm starting to suspect that Vexa will end up being a lot more useful to have with me than I'd originally assumed.

It's odd to think I'll have a traveling companion, even if it isn't for very long. This journey has been mine alone for a long time now, and I've kinda gotten used to the silence.

"Alright, hop up and get the fuck out, I'm gonna leave a couple nasty surprises in here, and you're not gonna want to, uh...activateany of them," the witch shoos me up and out of the hut, clicking the door shut behind me, and after a few moments I hear a bit of soft whispering and rhythmic scraping, as if something's being drawn on the floor. Vexa emerges a few moments later, a compact black pack slung over her shoulder, her willowy frame leaning against the gnarled white wood of a birch staff. "There we go. That should buy me some time."

"Do I wanna ask?"

"Nope."

"Then I guess I won't." I swallow, glancing back towards the cemetery that will lead us back to the road, and eventually, on the long, long path to the small goblin nation that is our destination. "So... Tague, huh?"

"Yup," the elf nods, making her way off ahead of me, boldly taking the first steps of our journey as if she isn't leaving her entire life, and home, behind. "You ever been?"

"This is as far east as I've ever been, actually," I frown, following behind her. Despite her extra foot of height and long limbs, all Idois walk, so I have no difficulty whatsoever keeping up with the elf's long, lethargic strides.

"You're a bluffsider, yeah," she chuckles. "Guess you won't have a lot of fun, worldly stories to share along our journey, then. Your people... what. You fuck goats, right?"

"Wehavea lot of goats," I say hesitantly. "I'm sure there's a bluffsider or two, here or there, that have done some inappropriate things with them. Have you ever actually been out that way?"

"Fuck no," she chuckles as we approach the graveyard, pausing to orient herself and starting out on the road headed east. "This is as farwestas I've been. I'm a city girl. Or I was."

"Not a fan of teatimes in your fancy towers?" I jab back at her.

"Wrong kind of elf, sweetness. I'mselesril, a low elf. No teatime for me. More along the lines of bread soup, and getting excited when our rat traps accidentally caught someone's pet, 'cause it meant more than one of us got to have meat that night. You've never met an elf before, have you?"

"...One or two...."

"Fuck, it seems like we have a lot to catch up on, after all," she chuckles. "Something to do on the road."

We make our way through the birch forest, away from the little town, leaving the Pig and Candle far behind. It's exhilarating to finally have a new direction, a real goal, even if it isn't one I understand well - all I know is I'm following my mother's trail, and this will bring me closer to her.

I share a few stories of my home with Vexabeth, of the Bluffs. Simple people leading simple lives in the highlands by the ocean. Netfishers, goatherds, grain farmers. Not really a land of adventuring folk, not a land of heroic stories or great deeds. Our versions of 'tall tales' were the LaKarran boys claiming they'd killed a grazzoth and brought its skull, only for us to all find out that they'd found the dead body of an old ox that had gotten lost, sawed off the horns, and glued them onto the face to look like tusks.

Naturally, this means that Vexabeth gets bored of my stories in record time, but the general chatter between us remains pleasant after that. She's something of an odd woman, very much unlike the way I expect elves - or magic-users, actually - to be. She's crass, irreverent, and lazy, but doesn't give me the impression of someone who's genuinely selfish. I start to get the feeling that we'll get along alright, at least until we get to Tague... however long that takes.

Hours pass. We have a brief road-lunch consisting of sour red berries and hard white cheese, barely enough to hold us until evening finally begins to fall. As dusk descends, we keep our eyes out - hers faringfarbetter in the dimming light than my own - for a place to make camp, eventually finding a modest clearing in the forest to stop and make a campfire. Eating on the road is rarely rewarding, even with my tiny little mess kit, but I've gotten fairly skilled at foraging over the past year. Some wild pumpkin and mushrooms, in addition to the unexpected appearance of a pheasant, leads to the two of us getting to enjoy a meal far better than I'm used to.

"I don't know this road all that well, probably not much better than you do," Vexa thinks aloud, popping a pan-grilled puff of mushroom into her mouth. How she chews with that big metal tooth I'm not sure, but she seems to be having a decent time of it. "It'll be another couple rough days of walking, I think, before we hit another town. A while after that before we get to Tague."

"Right," I sigh, getting a little closer to the fire as the chill of night air starts to creep in around us. "We should get some rest, then, I guess."

"Eh, I'm gonna jerk off first, I think," the elf says brazenly, not a hint of shame or self-awareness in her voice. "Unless you wanna help?"

I blink, trying not to visibly balk. "Help you... jerk off?"

"Yeah. Or, I guess I could do us both. You saving my life and everything, I'd say you've more than earned a handy."

"Oh, I... huh. I just didn't know you were..." I'm not really sure what I want to say, but I'm definitely taken aback... if tempted.

"I'm not saying we should fuck or anything. Too lazy for that right now. Just wanna pop my cork so I can sleep," she shrugs. "Hey, if you're not interested, whatever, you do you."

"No! I- um, I'm interested."

"Sweet," Vexa comes back, though it's very clear that she sees sex as more of a casual thing than I do - the enthusiasm she voices is the enthusiasm of someone who was offered a fresh honey-tart, not a fireside roll in the hay. Whether this is an 'elf thing,' or something specific to her, I suppose I'll have to find out.