Secrets & Treasons

Fourth Movement: Ellen | Arrival

Narcis 8 Kinlín 1307,

"I can't believe we're going to freeze our feet off in this godforsaken country!"

"Again? Can't you quit complaining?"

"Come on, old girl, you're not going to tell me you're not pissed off about where they're sending us? You can't make me feel like a party pooper all the time..."

"Of course, it pisses me off, but there's nothing we can do about it, right? So, let's get to it."

"That's...all you got to say?"

Flavie made a movement that could have been interpreted as a shrug, if she had not been a mare and therefore had human shoulders, able to such gesture. Fenril turned back to the packed and overflowing hallway hoping to catch a glimpse of a familiar figure.

Moving the small group that made up the famous "team" of Heroes of the Standard may seem simple, but it is actually only simple in appearances. For the elementary and excellent reason that most of its members hated each other, cordially. Also, because some of them imagined themselves to be a finer dust than everybody else, along with a bundle of more reasons -at the limits of the most basic intelligence- that make living in a community -especially imposed- more of a challenge and a pure exploit. However, and only because miracles really do happen sometimes, they were ready to leave. Warmly dressed and accompanied by their irreplaceable companions, as befits heroes without fear or reproach, they competed with pride and arrogance.

After having endured a number of useless royal speeches, they walked towards the magic circle that had been carved into the courtyard's pavement and entered it one by one. Skeletal figures in robes took their places outside the circle. One of them stepped forward and closed the circle with a sure hand at the point of a sword, then took his place among the others. The ritual began, incomprehensible, as if gibbered in a language with impossible accents. As always in such situations, the sky darkened suddenly. The air became electrified, discharging itself in a random manner. The silhouettes raised their voices without sparing themselves, haranguing the Linces, the Eternals even.

And the heroes disappeared in a cloud of dust.

"Are these priests serious?" said a not-so-confident voice in the middle of the fog.

"Of course!" another voice rebuked him, sounding no more confident.

"They wouldn't leave our lives in the hands of amateurs! We are important!" a human voice thundered.

"Right," said Childeric, unconvinced, as the black dust settled around him.

"Ah, here you are at last!" exclaimed the cheerful voice of a turbaned troll. "Welcome to the Walk of the Mists! You are now in the city of Ellen, the beginning of your noble quest! Please exit the transport circle one by one, no hurry, everyone will pass..."

"I feel like I hate him already," Hawkeye chuckled to Half Moon. "What is this..."

"I am the humble Frürhr and I have the very great honor," he replied unconsciously to the young elf's question, "to be your guide for this beginning of the path. The recommendations of our King have been very precise on this subject. Please follow me without detour, there is no time to lose..."

"It's true, we've lost enough time as it is!" replied Hawkeye ironically.

"I will try to ensure that the loss is minimal, if I am given the opportunity" he resumed, the voice tinted of undertones. "I will take you right now to the city gates and..."