Fae Conundrum

[Yvonne]

Ruined ramparts had almost entirely crumbled over, a structure that couldn’t keep a gentle breeze out, good for identifying where the city limits were and little else. A woebegone watchtower still stood vigilant, but the fortification no longer had a means of entry - the stone stairs lying among the rubble. A lone drakari guard on watch had improvised a vine-ladder to climb up to his post.

Yvonne had searched Donnalaich and its ruined buildings for hours, and with very little to go on the chance of finding a new clue seemed more and more hopeless. Finding the watchtower stirred a feeling the time had come to turn back. Did she even know what to look for anymore? A fae among fae, in a city of fae - one that could manipulate ice. That narrowed it down but not nearly enough. The age old adage of searching for a needle in a haystack came to mind and it only served to annoy her.

The half-and-halfling’s hope had been to strike it lucky, explore the city and stumble on something improper happening. The thought of trying to find a hunter to help her came far too late. What a fool’s errand. Vandals keep their activities on tha down low. They don’t make a big show out of it, foolish girl. Ye didn’t even think this through did ye? This could take all night by yerself.

The Alerian cave-dweller knew how to scout out the darkness, grasp the lay of the land, get her bearings on a locale and she’d done that. Tracking down a single individual among thousands wasn’t a skill in her repertoire. The fact most decent folk now slept was a saving grace, however it seemed she had the wrong time or place. She’d wanted to catch him in the act! At least locate more vandalism as that would be another lead. Not this whole lot of nothing.

An empty marketplace surrounded the seeker, shuttered stalls and cloth coverings tied down for the night. The merchants had all gone home to their families. With every shop closed nothing appeared out of place. This doesn’t make sense. If someone wanted ta stick a wrench in tha works of this city tha market would be a fine place ta start. Why leave it be? If tha people still have a place ta exchange their goods and services, then any damage done will eventually be repaired. No method ta tha madness.

Frustrated, Yvonne massaged the stress from her temples, closing her weary eyes a moment and looking downcast. She heaved a sigh. Felicity, where did ye run off ta? I need yer help… When she opened her elven eyes again her hazy focus had settled on the dirt nearby. Drifting back from her thoughts her focus cleared and an unusual shape in the dirt caught her attention.

Yvonne knelt and faintly touched the markings in the earth with only her fingertips. Not tracks, no - this was-- what? Why would a fae lie down face first in the dust like this? She could make out where fingers had scratched the dirt, hand prints. Those lower marks looked like knee indentations. Their whole body had flopped here with a whomp, blowing dust aside in every direction. A magnificent spot for a nap, middle of tha bloody marketplace.

Silver eyes frantically scanned around the bodily indent for a trail of some sort, her vigor and dynamism renewed by the latest finding. This had to be what she’d been looking for. Yes, yes! Those marks could have been from the patter of fae feet, bare foot if she wasn’t mistaken. Yvonne took off along beside the trail so as not to disturb the clues, hurrying to meet their maker. Finally, finally she had something to go on. She had a lead! Not much but something and she took it, chased it and followed it through like nothing else was ever more important than this trail, saw it through for as long as she could.

The dusty footsteps abruptly ended with the grass.

Yvonne’s fists tightened until her knuckles went white. She wanted to scream. She didn’t. She shook with emotion instead. Silently, silently quaked with frustration. This couldn’t be the end of the road. It couldn’t. No, she wouldn’t let it. There had to be more. There had to be something to follow.

Like a delirious, wild bush turkey she clawed and scratched at the grass, looking for something, anything! The black-skinned scout paused, reverted to her goggles. She adjusted the right lens, focusing in on tiny, delicate droplets resting on the blades of grass. Water - in this miserable heat - yet to evaporate. Moisture on her fingertips. Again she bolted off like a hound dog, running at full pelt as quickly as her little legs could go.

She followed the water, pursued the hidden path through the grass and into the outskirts of the ancient city. The trail went cold - literally and figuratively. The seeker entered into a thick, ghastly fog. A fog that sucked the warmth of the world away, sending chills down her spine. She slowed her pace, unable to see her way forward safely any longer. The fog blinded even her eyes, clouding any edges and shapes with its ethereal atmosphere.

At the very edge of her vision, much closer than normal, another ruin lay concealed in the grey murk. The strangest thing about the ruin though - it had snowed, around and within, white as winter. Snow, in the middle of the jungle. Crisp, fresh and cold as ice. The half-breed tenuously approached the snowy shelter, hesitating. She’d come a long way to finally seize this moment, and now that it was here, she didn’t know that she should barge in. Whoever did this had to be a powerful sorcerer, right?

Magic, the bane of her existence. How could she approach it? This was everything she feared, right in front of her panicky eyes. Who knew what curses or hexes this individual could place upon her, with a whim, at a moment’s notice. Goosebumps exploded over her skin like a rash, whether from the chill of fog or the dread of her nightmares she could not say. Where she had come from, this act of madness - walking toward a lair of black magic - was against the law. Consorting with witches and wizards would see her gravely punished.

Dare I take a peek inside? What harm could a peep do? First sign of demonic ritual I will run away like there be no tomorrow, but I must… I need… ta see for myself. I came all this way. All those people, those refugees, those street urchins - they be counting on me. I can’t turn back yet. I won’t turn back.

Felicity, I feel scared.

Uneasy footsteps trod over the snow with gentle crunches. She took her sweet time, careful, cautious of catching a stray spell-bolt in the guts at any moment. There was no room for mistakes now. No margin for error. The crossbreed huddled outside the archway entrance, taking a deep breath, steeling herself. She dared her peek inside. The black strands of her hair wavered in the breeze, metallic silver eyes taking a look.

Yvonne immediately felt sorry for him. The poor thing had bags under his blackened eyes, his eyelids heavy with fatigue. Those swiveling ears drooped, sagged until their lowest point. He rocked gently back and forth, trembling, knees to his chest. Filthy with dirt and gods-knew-what and that pong was a bit on the nose too, but… regardless, he seemed so tattered and worn out, at the end of his rope. Surely he hadn’t slept in a week or more, suffering a severe case of insomnia.

Her motherly instincts urged her to take the fae boy in her arms and cradle him, soothe his worries with her cooing reassurances and rock him quietly to sleep. He needed to rest his weary head. The concerned mother figure crept out of hiding and stepped into the doorway, mustering her courage to meet the fae. She would offer her help, softly and without threat and see how he reacted. If he turned hostile she could back away safely, perhaps find Felicity and try again later.

“Hey, ye be okay Mister? Can I come in and sit with ye?” Yvonne called out.