A Chance Encounter; The Road to Istein University

[Ellie]

(Closed to Tobias_Stalt)

Ellie dropped to her knees beside the river tributary. She had hardly left the red forest, Lindequalmë, and already she had grown weary from her travel. He moved to sit down, taking the pack that had been thoroughly strapped to her back and setting it on the ground, desiring a break from here time walking. It was midday in the Raiaeran summer, the heat beaded down on the poor half-elf and she desperately desired a drink. The plains were wide spread, few trees sparsely distributed along the landscape, making the travel more desirable than perhaps a mountain hike, however the unfit-girl still found the trip difficult. Not only did she have to travel such a long distance to reach her destination, but she also had to keep a watch over her back. The plains of Raiaera we're littered with the remains of the corpse war, anywhere from warriors to innocent family corpses were strewn about, and the undead we're still quite a threat.

Desperately wanting to take a rest, Ellie scanned her surroundings. They were plains after all... how could a dull-witted zombie manage to hide in this open space? The exhausted traveler sighed, glad that she had found some space where she could take a break. She reached for her flask, tilting her head back and sipping the last of her water from the flask. Licking her lips, the flask was flipped upside down... nothing left. Gazing over at the riverbank she had already been resting at she wondered if the water would be any good.

"It looks clean enough..." the naive girl muttered to herself. She would have no way to know for sure, but she knew she needed water to make it the rest of the trip. She dipped her flask into the river, watching as the bubbles lifted from the lip of the open flask until it was full. She returned to her pack and searched for a loaf of bread she had packed. She tore of a chunk and recalled the events that had transpired leading up to this moment...

Several Days Earlier...

"Eluriand?" Ellie asked kicking her legs back and forth from the desk she sat upon. She gazed up at Vincent who had been looking around for a certain book. "So you think I can refine my singing and Spellsinging?" She called out to the scholar. He balanced on a ladder, trying to search the highest parts of the bookshelves. As far as her current skill sets went, she could only cast healing magic she learned from her human mother, and a simple Spellsong she had learned from her father; She knew a song of inspiration, something that she assumed had been passed down to him seeing as he wasn't a Spellsinger himself, able to help companions perform already possible tasks.

"Yes... I can take you to the edge of the forest if you'd like Ellie, but I have things to attend to so I can't help you any further than that..." he trailed off picking up a book from the shelf and glossing it over. "Aha! I found the bastard" he exclaimed climbing down the ladder.

"I would very much appreciate it Vincent!" she exclaimed jumping from her seat. She was grateful for the assistance and wouldn't pass up the opportunity to be more useful. "I'm going to get packed right now!" her voice echoed behind her as she ran through the library doors...

[Alkor]

Murky sunlight peered over the vast plains that stretched out before Eluriand. Stains of light streaked across blasted, dark fields laid to waste. Smoke still roiled skyward from patches of charred earth, eternally hot from sinister magic that boiled bedrock and scorched soil. The Corpse War had not only slaughtered the people of Raiaera, but her once bounteous beauty as well. Mutilated cadavers were commonplace along the roadside, rotted and piled up. The putrid stench of plague wafted across his path, and the swordsman steered clear.

"Hells," Alkor cursed, his face twisted in a vile expression, "Elven housekeeping." Soft footsteps took him slowly across the flatland that stretched out in reverent silence. Few elves still took the southern road; grim reminders of long, losing battle were still reflected in the countryside. Deep welts of black where magic had dug deep and gutted the ground marred her pale face. "This land is sick," he observed quietly.

In stark contrast to his homeland, Alkor saw Raiaera as a place who's reckoning had come and gone. Fallien was her own reckoning. Never to rise high on greatness or glory, the sands swallowed any man or woman who sought to conquer her. The desert was content to choose its own sovereign, and that leader lorded over dust.

Raiaera was a nation broken, battered, but strong. The wanderer knew better than to bet against the machinations of elves. "Eluriand," the word sounded odd and foreign on his tongue, butchered by the muddy mouthed accent of his homeland. It marked his destination and direction of his thoughts.

Istien, the elf had said. "If there are any who know of your blades, they decorate the libraries of Istien." It was a mere grasp at grains of salt, but the prospect of home was allure enough. Whatever knowledge might bear him back into his father's good graces was promise enough.

"I will find them," he mumbled to himself, zeal like flames in his cerulean eyes. "Mark me, father."

The wind howled. Alkor never saw the elf girl ahead of him.

[Ellie]

Ellie took a moment to observe her surroundings. The burnt grass and corpses filled the air with an awful scent, something she was not too happy to experience while she was eating, and didn't help to make the scenery look any better. She detested looking at the dead bodies that were around, thankfully none were too close to where she had settled down to relax, and would feel nauseous inspecting the bodies. It was different then seeing wounded people in their Inn. In the Inn, the worst she had ever seen in her time there were men who would have broken limbs, the victims of the corpse war would generally go to real infirmaries instead, she was used to mostly bruises, cuts, and patients who were internally Ill. Death however was an entirely different creature... The half-elf had not taken the time to think about it before, but the dead bodies truly disgusted her. She hated the dead, they were foul smelling, rotting, hard to look at subjects. The worst part about them was that they reminded her of the undead. The girl trembled at the thought... ever since her mother had been killed by undead she had an aversion to them, wishing to keep away from anything that had to do with them.

The saddened adventurer sighed coming back to reality, sweeping the scene for any danger, and noticed a thin, pale man off in the distance. Panic shot into her heart. Was it a zombie? He certainly looked pale enough to be one... The half-elf quickly dismissed the idea. No, no it couldn't be an undead... the person moved with purpose, searching almost, and had a much better posture and sense of self. She relaxed only for a moment before thinking of all the other horrible things it could have been. He could be a bandit, ready to mug her for all of her belongings, leaving her to die in this harsh environment. He did look the part after all, covered in scars and what she thought were tattoos under the cloak he was wearing. She could only catch glimpses of underneath the cloak in the wind. Although, why would a bandit be this far from civilization? Could it be an assassin? Hired to come and kill the poor lonely traveler? She dismissed that idea as well. There would only be one way for her to find out.

"H-Hello!?" She called out to the man. The nervous girl was on her knees, kneeling beside her pack of belongings, and had her steel stiletto drawn behind her back. "W-What're you doing out here in the middle of no where?" her own face had turned pale, afraid of having to use the stiletto on the man

[Alkor]

Dimly lit eyes flickered over the speaker as she stumbled over her words. The pale faced swordsman stood up straight and sized the woman up from where he stood, still a reasonable distance away. At his waist, the blade seemed to shiver in anticipation, hopeful that its master would slake the ever-present thirst. When his hand rested on the tsuka, the Katana went rigid.

Vastly different from the dead world that surrounded them, the Raiaeran native seemed full of life. Terror painted her expression with a look Alkor knew all too well. His face scrunched for a moment, then went lax. His hand fell from the blade, and it sighed in defeat. "My business is far north," he told the girl as honestly as she warranted. The hot taint of alcohol on his breath reminded him of his own thirst, and he fumbled about himself absently. "Are you some elven enforcer? Do you intend to bar my passage?"

Though his arm hung limp, his hand remained close to the blade. The foul wind whipped his rough face and splayed messy hair across his cold blue stare. Alkor shifted; though he held no qualms with cutting the girl down, he weighed the option heavily. As he found the jug that hung from his hip, the Fallieni youth silently sighed. His thumb popped the cork and as it fell, his other hand snapped up to catch it deftly. All the while, he sipped his ale.

Once the ceramic jug fell to his side, Alkor spoke. "I would hate to paint this path with any more elven blood," he rasped, "so, tell me girl," A sinister pop and series of cracks emanated from his neck as he rolled it slowly. "Does my quest still strike your interest?"

His gaze shifted away from the girl to the horizon. The brilliant sun dipped behind hazy clouds that slowly darkened the sky. Wind buffeted his face again, and the pale boy frowned. "It's going to rain," he muttered suddenly to himself. "Storm, by the look of it."

Unwittingly, Alkor had shifted the cloak that draped over his shoulders; on his right side, an intricate tattoo of oranges, reds, and blacks that depicted a rising Phoenix marred his otherwise porcelain flesh. Most notably, chains on the mythical bird's wings and talons denied it freedom. It would never rise again.