A Fantasy Project

Prologue - "I'm Gilrael."

She leaned her head backwards, facing the sun and felt the star's warm rays, gently hit her face. The soothing sunlight contrasting the boreal wind that blew in-between the dark, tall pines that almost blocked all sunlight from coming down. Truly a rarity these days. With her dark brown eyes closed, the tall and elegant elf woman just stood there.

It was the first time in many moons that she could just take a break. Investigating what had caused the unnatural changes that had almost driven her people out of the area. Not only did the temperatures drop so dramatically that their crops died, but the prolonged effect meant that not even the most skilled mages could withstand the drain of their spells to constantly keep the plants warm. Some elves died trying... Their sheep and cows could no longer be fed and eventually were entirely slaughtered for meat. Something that was taboo in elven culture, outside of extreme situations of survival. And with their last reserves dwindling shortly before running out, the elven society stood at the edge of collapse. Her mission was crucial to saving her people.

Strangely, at the same time the temperature started dropping so harshly, the pines started to thrive. Some time after, these strange mushrooms, that the elves had never seen before started sprouting out of the ground. At first, they thought they might help them survive the famine. But they quickly and harshly learned that that wasn't the case. Originally discovered by some children playing in the woods, the mushrooms tragically turned out to be violently poisonous. When the hungry kids brought them home and sautéed them, the first warning signs showed up. The steam rising from the pan gave off a foul stench. It irritated their eyes and throats and made them cough, but not even this would suppress their hunger. Alas, their suffering should not find a quick end. Convulsing and coughing up blood, each of them died with their people watching in horror.

She shook her head, as to remove the grueling memories from her train of thought. She had a lead on her investigation, and she needed to follow up with it as quickly as possible. Opening her eyes she took a step forward and stared into the abyssal blackness of the thicket before her. Her eyes quickly adapted to the lighting conditions in the underbrush as she started striding forward. She was following a trail of those pale, poisonous mushrooms that wound through the forest like the veins of a beating heart - albeit a sickly, dying one. The carved paths through the black soil, that spread out through the entire forest, branching out from one another and thinning out so far that by the time it reached the elven city, they were barely recognisable as such paths.

But she was miles away from home. Where the woods were denser and darker. Moving ahead, her keen senses picked up movement in her peripheral vision. She darted around, unsheathing her dagger with a flash of silvery steel. Holding the razor sharp blade in her left, she caught a glimpse of a vaguely humanoid silhouette in the thicket, but she quickly lost sight of it. Twigs cracking on the ground to her right and an arrow flying only inches past her head were quickly answered with a throwing knife she drew from her belt. Her dark brown, almost black hair twirled behind her as she turned in the motion of the throw. A gasp and a fleshy 'thud' confirmed her hit. She turned her head over and stepped closer to her would-be assailant.
    Lying on the ground there was a pale figure. An elf, fragile and sickly like the mushrooms that led the investigator to this part of the forest. The finely serrated blade had struck him in the rib cage and lodged itself in-between his bones. The sickly looking male tried sat up against a tree, looking up at her. "Good toss." He grunted and tried standing up, leaving his bow lying on the ground and the hunting knife on his belt sheathed. He gave her a forced smile, while her stern face remained unmoved. "Why did you fire at me?" She asked. The sound of her voice quickly dissipating in the thick forest around her. No answer. "You better answer my question, cause you won't enjoy my methods of getting it out of you, believe me." Her brows lowered and one could quite easily see that she was not joking around. "Easy there, lady." he coughed, raising his hands defensively. "I was just defending my home."
    "Your... Home?" She asked in disbelief.
    "Just watch." He said. Mumbling in pain as he started walking he added: "Ah! This hurts like hell, did you put something on this knife? Follow me."
    She shook her head in response to his question and cautiously followed the male elf, still clutching her dagger. He stepped in-between the trees and smaller shrubs, and shortly disappeared. After she followed through the brushes and caught up with him, she found out what he was talking about: Tightly lodged in-between the dense forest was a little hut, made of earthen and wooden materials. She could tell from the way that everything was interwoven that it had been shaped by magic. 'What a waste of energy in such harsh times.' she thought to herself.

After stepping inside, the sickly elf sat himself down on a stool next to a little fireplace. "Help me remove that murderous tool of yours before we have our chit-chat, will ya?" She nodded in agreement. Silently she grabbed onto the handle and looked into the yellow irises of the elf sitting before her. Making eye contact he nodded, as to signify he was ready. With the blade being so finely serrated, it ripped out little bits of flesh and bone. It didn't puncture his lungs, luckily. Pressing down on the hole in his chest and heaving in pain, the elf grabbed a patch of fabric and put it onto the stone infront of the fireplace. Swiftly grabbing alchemical ingredients from little bowls around this work station, and spreading them onto the patch before wetting it all with a bit of water from his flask. The ranger curiously watched it,  as her magical understanding was limited in the field of healing, as she mostly knew spells used in tracking, combat or signalling. Pressing the patch onto his wound, he grit his teeth. "Lend me a hand. Give me the box on the windowsill." She quickly complied putting the foot long box on what she presumed was his eating table, behind the wounded host.

When he opened it, she gasped in surprise. In it was soft, damp soil and sprouting out of it was a forest of the small white mushrooms that she knew were so violently poisonous. "Aren't those... Dangerous?" She asked. "If you eat them, yes. That's not what I'm doing though." His free hand brushed over the caps of the spindly fungi, and each one he touched quickly wilted away. He briefly looked invigorated. His skin taking on a slightly more rosy tone, his hair looking glossier and his eyes sharper. But when he put that hand on the patch on his wound that sense of vitality faded away again. After a moment of concentration and silence, he raised his hand. Truly he was a master of his alchemical craft, because where there was a patch of cloth earlier, there was now a patch of scarred skin. The bleeding was stopped and he opened his eyes again.
    "Did you use those mushrooms... as magical fuel?" She asked in disbelief. From all she knew, only the lifeforce of animals - therefore also humanoids - could be used to power magic. He nodded. "But that's impossible."
    "Well have you tried it?" A short pause, before she shook her head. "Go ahead. Be my guest."
    He gestured towards the little box, before she reluctantly removed her glove and touched the tips of some of the remaining mushrooms. As the ranger started concentrating, she felt the familiar tingle of warmth, transfering into her hand, up through her arm and dispersing through her body while the fungi quickly died and turned black and gooey. Unnerved and startled by what she just witnessed, she pulled back her hand.
"I think it's about time we introduced ourselves, after almost killing each other and making peace over these deadly creatures." He vaguely gestured at the box before standing up and putting the palm of his right hand over his sternum, and the back of his left on the lower part of his back before bowing down at the hip slightly in a traditional elven salute. "My name is Belegthol."
    Mirroring the honourable gesture, the ranger answered "I'm Gilrael."