Blackthorne stood before his tiny charge, sword drawn and ready and one hand back toward her in a protective manner. "They're coming again. Get ready," he said.

The little elf nodded mutely and cocked her head to the side. She could not use her eyes, but her senses of smell and hearing easily allowed her to track a moving target of such pungent nature.

"Cry for—" screeched an invading onion, only to meet the business end of Blackthorne's booted foot. The annoying little bastard went sailing over the grass like the world's most annoying football. Brutally smashed in the mouth by the heavy blow, the screaming onion fell to the ground and died face down in the dirt.

His tiny partner suddenly leapt back to avoid an incoming onion, and immediately moved into a back handspring to avoid two more that flew her way. Despite her lack of eyesight, she easily determined the movements of the loud little creatures and acted accordingly.

Blackthorne spared her a glance then turned to face his next challenger. Briefly, he felt a small hint of jealousy toward the girl. She had been alive decades longer than he had at this point, but he still could not wrap his head around how ridiculously agile and perceptive she was at the moment.

An onion leapt toward him, but it was denied the sweet man-meat that it craved. Instead, the screaming onion felt only the deathly kiss of metal as Blackthorne's blade sheared through its orange outer skin and carved a deep gouge into its tasty white interior.

Onion juice spurted outward in a brilliant arc as the dying hamburger accessory fell to the uncaring earth. In the back ground, the little elf girl continued to dance with her new friends. No matter how hard they tried they could not score a hit on her, but she tired quickly. Her captivity weakened her physically to the extent that her stamina had suffered.

Blackthorne moved in swiftly to aid his little charge. His sword stabbed out in time to skewer one leaping onion, and in almost the same movement he whipped around and slammed his foot into another of the airborne foes. "Goal!" shouted the man when the little bastard went streaking through the air in the opposite direction.

A hard impact against his back sent him tumbling a moment later, however, as another of the onions chose that exact moment to strike. The damage was minor due to his equipment, but his lack of hit points did not help the situation. Yet another injury was added to his list of wounds.

"Blackthorne?" called the girl, obvious concern in her voice.

He kicked out with his foot, knocking a hungry little onion away, and then rose to his feet. "I'm here!"

She nodded quietly then tilted her head to the side. A moment later she hopped to the side to avoid another onion. This one came perilously close to hitting her, a dangerous situation given her tiny frame.

The battle raged on for several minutes as he whittled down the number of onions remaining. As time passed several more of them arrived, but their numbers remained manageable.

Blackthorne, now a mass of bruises, finished off the last one with a hard stomp of his booted heel. He looked around, sword at the ready, but no new challengers came upon them.

He quickly moved to his small companion and asked, "Are you injured?"

"A l-little, but nothing ...serious," she said honestly through panted breaths. The little girl fell to her knees not long after that.

"Hey, you're sure you aren't hurt?" he asked before drawing closer to her. He looked her over carefully, while inspecting her for wounds.

She tilted her head upward offered a slight smile. "Your concern is endearing, beloved," she said in a soft warm tone. "You do not need to worry, I am indeed uninjured."

"Of course I'm worried," he said, his eyebrows pressing together in the process. "I refuse to let anything else happen to you, again."

Her little nostrils flared gently, and her cheeks turned a telling shade of pink. "I see..."

Before Blackthorne could say anything, she leaned forward and waved her hand in the air in a rough approximation of where his cheek should be. Her blush intensified as she corrected slightly and raised her hand just a little more to gently clasp his cheek. "House Lothuialeth owes you more than one debt, beloved."

"Lothuialeth?" he asked lightly. "That's a fairly big name for such a little girl."

"Have you heard of us?" she asked curiously.

"No, but it does have several syllables in it," he said flippantly.

She snorted at him in response then lightly patted his cheek. "I assume that you must be pretty for a human. Rejoice in it. Clearly, such divine fortune is the only means of survival that you have, beloved."

Blackthorne blinked at her then tried to process her meaning. It almost sounded she was telling him to be glad that he was pretty, because he would not survive on his wits alone. "You don't owe me anything. I don't need a reward for something like this."

"Do you not?" she asked him curiously.

"No," he said sincerely.

"Ah, it is quite fortunate that you are possibly pretty," she said before she made a tsking noise in his direction.

It was Blackthorne's turn to snort at her. "You've already seen my face. What's with this possibly pretty business?"

She shrugged gently and said, "Humans tend to look alike after a while."

"Do we?" he asked, not even slightly offended. Given her age, and the fact that most humans born the same day as she was born would die of old age before she would even reach adulthood, it was a fair assessment. One human face no doubt blended into another for her kind.

The little elf reached up with her other hand then gently traced the planes and curvatures of his face. "We only remember the ones whom we wish to remember."

Blackthorne allowed the little elf to do as she wished for a time. She had gone through quite the ordeal recently, and allowing her to remember his face with her hands was not something he would deny her. Though he did ask why she needed to do such a thing.

"I do not need to touch your face. I simply wish to do so, beloved," she said softly. However, she never stopped touching his face through her response.

"Ah, I see..." said Blackthorne softly.

She continued to trace the lines of his face for quite some time before Blackthorne finally said, "We should get going soon. You'll be able to see when it's dark, but there will be a lot more critters running around."

"As you say, beloved," said the little girl wistfully. Before he could say anything, however, she spoke again, "There is one thing to do before we go."

"What's that?" he asked.

"Please bring me the least damaged corpse among our enemies," she instructed.

"Sure, but why?" he asked her in a curious tone.

"I would use my powers to forge us a new companion," she said.

Blackthorne started to say something, but she squished his cheeks together and made his lips pop out like a fish. Imperiously, she decreed, "Go, now my champion."

He snorted at her then laughed a little as he pulled away from her little hands. "Bossy little thing, aren't you."

She merely offered him a pleasant smile and awaited his offering. There was no need to deny the truth.

Blackthorne stood up and searched the area. It did not take long to find an onion that seemed to be fairly intact despite the fact that it was dead. He offered it up to his little boss and she took it graciously.

"You may wish to move away to a safer distance," she said casually.

He took her at her word, and moved several steps away. Her head rose up and she shook it lightly. "Further."

"Alright..." he said before trotting away a short distance.

"Good," she said before she placed the onion onto the ground. "Let us begin..."

The little girl took a deep breath then spat out a hateful serious of words that made the very air itself begin to blister. Blackthorne took an involuntary step back as those evil words tore at the fabric of reality and twisted it in visible ways that made him want to vomit.

Once she finished speaking, the onion changed from orange skinned to purple. It rose up on its little root feet and moaned in a low, empty tone.

"Did you just turn that onion into a zombie?" asked Blackthorne, surprised.

"Ah! You are quite knowledgeable, beloved," said the little necromancer. She poked the zombie onion with a blade of grass then raised it up for him to see. The green grass blistered and began to smoke. "This corroded zombie onion will be the perfect means of protection against others of its former kind, though it will only last for a little over an hour."

"Why not make several of them, if they'll be helpful?" he asked her curiously.

She sighed wistfully, "I can only prepare the spell once per day, sadly. It is third level, after all."

He nodded to her, though she could not see it. "Any chance you could teach it to me?"

"Certainly, there is the possibility. I do sense powerful magic emanating from your soul," she said before gesturing to the little zombie onion. The beast waddled forward while killing the grass that it touched in its passing.

"Great!" exclaimed Blackthorne. A little necromancy sounded useful.

"It should only take six, perhaps eight, years to teach you the basics of necromancy. Once you've mastered that, we can begin the basic spell crafting course," she said lightly.

Blackthorne's left eyelid began to twitch. "Just how long have you studied necromancy?"

She acquired a thoughtful expression, "Twenty years or so, I believe. Sadly, despite my prodigious intellect and overwhelming natural talent, I still know only the basics of the craft."

"Don't forget about your abundant humility," he said with a snort.

"Yes, that too," she agreed shamelessly.

"Why not just use a skill book, or something?" he asked.

"Such things are known to my people, but the knowledge provided is not our own. It is a foreign ideology. Skill books make one lazy," she said.

"Ah, because you don't learn something on your own and rely solely on the skill book?" asked Blackthorne.

"Correct," she said with a tilt of her head. "Once you master a thing for real, it cannot be taken away outside of severe brain injuries. Skills can sometimes be shut down for a time, or lost if someone possess a skill that breaks or restricts other skills."

"I see," said Blackthorne. It seemed that skill slots and the skills provided were only one potential. "You can't use the system to boost self-learned skill, though... Right?"

"This is true, and truly learning to do something through your own ability does take considerable time. However, a master swordsman is still a master swordsman whether they possess a swordsmanship skill, or not," she said.

Blackthorne nodded slightly. "None of the bonuses from having it as an official skill, though?"

"That is also true. The various systems found in the realms track things differently, but in this one there are extra benefits when a skill is officially recognized by the system," agreed the girl. "Though, my people still prefer true knowledge when it comes to the fundamentals. Specific skills and spells beyond that, are a different story."

"Well, your people have time to develop that way," said Blackthorne with a chuckle. "It would be nice to learn from you."

She sighed wistfully not long after that, "Unfortunately, I will not be able to teach you necromancy. I doubt that my family would allow me to keep a pet."

"By pet, you mean me?" he asked her in a sarcastic tone.

Her smile reappeared, but she said nothing. Whether she was making a joke, or serious, it was impossible to tell.

Blackthorne walked over to her, giving the zombie onion a wide-berth in the process. "Well, either way we should get going."

She stood up then opened her arms wide in his direction, "I have prepared myself. We may go."

In an older individual those words might have seemed dismissive. From her demeanor and the slight hint of anxiety in her expression, it was obvious to him that she wanted to seem brave.

Blackthorne pulled her back onto his back and the trio set off at a relaxed pace. Man, elf, and zombie onion the three still had several miles to cover before they could rest.