High Elve of Red Hallow

Chapter 1: Transmutation

The world around her seemed to stop and darken.

***

Her name was Adeve.

No one would know, considering that she was mute and had a terrible, fatal disease.

She could barely move. Parts of her were already dead and decomposed.

She was tended to, but nothing could cure Adeve's poisoned condition.

The environment around her was cool, wet, and dark, but comfortable. Beneath her was a hard surface of earth and wet soil.

The woman was taller than most and had to look down to meet the gaze of others. She appeared frail in her sad, dying state. She was waiting for someone to return. Someone she knew could save her. He had taken something from her. Something that was part of her and not functioning properly.

Adeve looked up at a gap in the ceiling. She soaked up the light of the sun.

'I do not feel well,' she thought. 'I am scared.'

Death. It coursed through her and she knew her dark end was near.

Her limbs twisted and a raindrop hit her. A piece of the magical sage fruit fell from her branch onto the cobblestone walkway.

'Please hurry, Eddipus,' she thought.

***

Sunlight shimmered through the clouds onto the calm sea and warmed the waters around Alchov. It was a port of call and the center of trade.

Situated in Westerian, it was small, meager, and built on several levels leading to a shipyard and a small fishing station that housed boats for rent, tours, and trade.

The air in Alchov felt clean but cool. One could inhale and smell the fragrant odors of fish and salt and breathe in the scent of warped mahogany wood.

The flat, top level held a blacksmith store, the governor's hall, a mead hall called Honeyed Wine, and a very small town square where a small market was held.

The second level housed a grayer, poor quarter called the Canals. On the sides of the walls were dwellings, while fisheries and a few shops were built into a foundation.

What stood out from the other shops was a family-run business called The Huntsman's Trade Post.

A young red-haired boy walked through the large, open oak door and entered the store. Alchov was a community of fishermen, sailors, destitute, freelance, and commissioned traders. The youth loved his old home. He respected the hard work and dedication his parents put into running a business.

"Veileen! Come here. Bring the books."

A boy of no more than twelve and average height wrapped a torn shroud around a disheveled stack of receipts. "Coming, Mother!"

His hands clutched the papers and he handed the tattered diaries to a red-haired woman. "I had an argument with a customer. He needs proof of--" 

A NOISE, SHOUTS, SMASHING OF GLASS! The sounds were fast approaching.

"Veileen, go to the cellar and keep quiet! The village is under attack."

He stood there almost in shock as the clanking of swords came closer.

"We do not have time, Veileen!"

Yet, he stood like a rock. His face was turned toward the open door, his eyes squinted to look outside.

"Do you hear me? Please move!" she called, holding him by the arm and pulling away a corner of the carpet to reveal a basement door below.

His eyes fell on his Mother. Tears gathered in the corners of his eyes as he saw flames outside.