The expanse of field that stretched out ahead of them was as far as it was wide. In the distance he could see trees lined a section of the field that appeared to shimmer purple, but he could tell that the movement of flowers were what gave it this effect.

Although the grass where they had appeared was short, just ahead it was longer, and ever further, but before the woodland long stalks of what appeared to be corn stuck out from the ground.

He saw that the archway was behind him, and just as the one on the small island had been before, this too was now empty.

“Where to?” he asked, gazing over the field and breathing in deeply at the view.

“We’ll head into town, just in case any annual quests have been launched and then we’ll go towards the boundaries and hope that it isn’t over crowded yet.”

Selrah walked a little way through the longer grass before coming to a pathway that had a sign post in its centre. On one wooden pointed part it said “Elder Moor”, Mythril took note of this out of interest but continued on behind Selrah.

In the grass small critters hopped and bounded. Whenever he had played an MMO before he would have thought little of shooting over an arrow, or setting forth at a charge, but here beside them everything suddenly felt much more real.

In his chest something felt tight and his breath became a little quicker. He had been so in awe of the land he was now in that he hadn’t thought of how he would need to survive there.

“Selrah?”

She gave a small grunt in reply, her attention not on anything much in particular but seemingly not too interested in entering into a conversation. Mythril had an uncomfortable feeling that he had done something wrong.

“Can you summon food?”

She continued walking but nudged her head slightly over her shoulder. “You have asked me this before every upcoming event for the past Elder knows how many moons. No, I can not summon food. You could if you’d bother to learn the profession, though.”

Mythril nodded, making a mental note to begin learning cooking and soon. It was an obvious skill and he was surprised neither of them knew it, further than making-

“I mean I can make bread,” Selrah finished his thought for him. A pat on her satchel. “Herb bread, and fruit bread, and cheese bread. If you want to make use of the upcoming festivities recipes then we can work on getting our skills up after tomorrow.”

He stepped behind her down some steep stone steps. In the distance smoke wound up from the chimneys of a town that although small looked bigger than the village they just left. On either side of the pathway fields of flowers now flanked them. Amongst the red petals some blue could be seen and Selrah stopped at these.

Tapping on her scroll a small pouch appeared in her hand. She reached down and plucked some of the blue flowers. She didn’t place them within the pouch, but he guessed that is where they would end up.

“What is happening tomorrow?” he asked. Hoping that while distracted she might be more interested in small talk.

She glanced up at him, that same look of concern over her features.

“You’re worrying me now,” she said, although she hadn’t needed to. “You should really know what is happening tomorrow. I can’t help but think you’re testing me.”

When Mythril didn’t reply, she stood from the flower field and walked back towards him. She was uncomfortably close, and although smaller than him he felt somewhat intimidated by her stare. A strange intimidation, as though she were searching for something inside him, as he supposed, when he looked back at her and saw his fiancée, he was doing with her.

“Hmm,” Selrah’s hand was back in her satchel. “Take this.”

She handed him a small potion, one that swirled between purple and yellow but not once did the colours mix together. When he opened the vial a small mist rose from within and the scent that struck him was one of strawberries. He gagged.

“Just drink it,” Selrah insisted. “It’s a [clarifying potion.]”

Mythril did as he was asked, holding his mouth firmly shut to prevent spitting it back up. Once it was finished the vial vanished between his fingers. He stared at them for a second too long, then looked up to Selrah, his lips slightly parted.

After seeing this happen any number of times before her attention was not on the small trick, and instead she examined Mythril. A brief look over and she stepped back, raised her hands and upon her palms bright purple sparks bounced over her skin.

“Wait,” Mythril gasped.

He stepped back but it was of little use, the purple sparks soon surrounded him. They bounced in the air around his head and then dropped to the ground, creating a circle about his feet of small flickering flames. His head felt light and his body clammy until without warning a small hiss emanated from the ground and the flames were gone. In their wake his mind became clear and body rejuvenated.

“Better?” Selrah asked, her head tilted slightly and eyes squinted as she examined him.

“Better,” he said with a smile.

“Good, because we’ve been preparing for the Elder battle tomorrow too long for you to mess it up. You need to be at your best to land the finishing blow.”

“The…” he stopped himself, Selrah’s eyes piercing again. “Okay, yes.”

At this, Selrah’s lips turned up and her eyes, as dark purple as they were, glinted lighter in the sunlight. “Yes, much better.”

She turned and they continued the rest of the short journey towards the town. Her satchel bounced off her hip as she hopped over a number of larger stones scattered about on the path. “Goblins, I bet.” She said with a hiss. “They play their foolish games in the most dangerous of places. I swear it’s a part of the game to see how many unsuspecting people they can hurt.”

Mythril dodged the stones as Selrah did but said little about it. There were questions about everything he wanted to ask, but she seemed to think he already knew the answers. That her spells helped him, the disgusting elixir benefitted him. He knew that she thought him someone else, and even worse, the more confused and afraid he became, the more he wished she were someone else.

She looked back over her shoulder towards him and smiled, warm and knowing, and he looked back, tired and empty. They reached the town as in his mind he thought over what she had said, an Elder and his position in the raid, to deal the final blow.

On his arm, flickers of light waned, and without his knowledge, one of the symbols that made up the expanse of his calling, faded for the last time.

The pathway into the town was flanked on either side, by buildings of an assortment of sizes. Doors to some were open, allowing conversation to reach Mythril’s ears over the top of Selrah’s suggestions that they should locate a man named Hubert Shortear.

“I asked for three vials, this is two and a half.”

“Different sized vials make a rogue appear more mysterious.”

“And did the last rogue you tried to sell that line on snip off the end of your finger?”

Mythril craned his head to see that inside one of these buildings stood a man, his hair worn short and cropped to his head, arguing with a woman who barely peered over the top of the counter. He had looked just in time to see the lady shrug, and in a poof of smoke, the man vanish.

“Don’t bother shopping in there,” he heard a whisper in his ear, the voice the same as the one he had just heard. “Mysterious… utter rubbish.”

“I… where?”

Selrah turned to look at him but her attention was drawn back to just in front of her where the man Mythril had seen arguing was now stood.

“Konspiracy,” Selrah said, her hands held up with a step backwards, bumping into Mythril. “Why do that? It’s a waste of powders.”

Kon, a man that Mythril now noticed held a similar look to Selrah in that he was of a slight frame and with pointed ears grinned back at them. In doing this Mythril saw that unlike Selrah his teeth were flat rather than pointed, and where her skin was pale, his was dark.

“You can’t waste something that you accidentally bought two thousand of,” Kon replied, a hand placed on Selrah’s shoulder. “How can you call anything a waste when it gets a scare out of you, anyway?”

Selrah patted his hand away and looking back at Mythril rolled her eyes.

“Are you both here to collect on the annual quests? If you are, you’re in for a disappointment, our guild has been down on the edges of the Elder Wood all morning and not a Griffon babe has been spotted. I reckon either the dregs that are the Noxiri Knights have taken them all or Hubert Shortear is short-changing us.” Kon laughed at this, and although not understanding anything that was being said, Mythril lifted his head and laughed because he felt he should.

“Great,” Selrah said, arms lifted in irritation. “You realize the only reason they would do that is to see us fail tomorrow? They don’t care that should we bring down the Elder it benefits all of Elder Moor.”

“Of course they don’t care,” Kon replied. “It’ll only matter if they bring down the Elder, and you can hardly talk.” He turned to point a gloved finger at Mythril. “Especially when your chap here convinced half of Noxiri to go one way and the other half another just to be sure we got hold of the summoning stone.”

Both Selrah and Kon looked to Mythril expectantly. Selrah, her brows furrowed together, in a way that looked both disappointed and stern, and Kon, the smile that took up permanent refuge on his face holding his mouth open and wide, almost waiting for the laugh that should come from what Mythril assumed he was expected to say.

“Noxiri Knights,” Mythil said with a snort. His mouth opened and closed a couple of times, a small laugh, an upturning of his palms and a shrug.

“Yes,” Selrah said, with a small laugh and her hand on his arm. “What would they have made of the stone anyway? The lore says it can be used once annum. It would have been a waste in their twiggy fingers.”

“I don’t know,” Kon said, his cheek pushed upwards as he placed his hand beneath his chin. “They’re pretty good.”

“Yes, of course, unless the stone summons a fire Elder,” Selrah said with a shake of her head. “Then what are they? Firewood.”

Kon laughed and gave a small nod. “Well, here’s to the Elder’s Chosen.” He lifted his hand and feigned a toast. “Speaking of, you will both be at the tavern tonight? Mythril, you need to be or the minor callings will be warm in the pants again before the morning comes.”

“We’ll be there,” Mythil replied. Selrah looked up to him, not in objection, but at the suddenness of his agreement. He wasn’t one to go drinking in the world he called home, but if he was to understand any of what was happening in this world he knew the place to find out would be a tavern.

“Brilliant,” Kon said, clapping his hands together. “I’ll be off to find a merchant not trying to take me for my teeth. Good luck with getting any sense out of Hubert.” He turned to walk down the path that was beginning to see more life on it, spilling out from the shops. “If you find any extra young griffons, bring it my way,” he said as an after-thought, before disappearing down one of the alleys that past the buildings.

“He’s an interesting one,” Mythril said as he followed Selrah through the town.

“Kon?” she said in surprise. “I’m surprised you didn’t have him by the throat given the trick he pulled on you in King’s Keep.”

“I don’t remember,” Mythril said, hoping to come across as disinterested in petty squabbling, especially given how amiable he and Kon had been towards each other, but also, of course, it was true.

“Well you’ve sure changed your mind on that one, and you might be okay with it but I’m not. You tried for weeks to get that sword and he took a bid on it, during a quest we went on specifically for you to get that blade!”

Mythril thought over this for a moment, he couldn’t help but think he had maybe just made a fool of himself, but at the same time Konspiracy didn’t seem like he was enjoying making a fool out of anyone. He couldn’t either, even if he tried, begin to convince himself that he had never pulled the same kind of trick.

“Did he need the blade?”

Selrah’s mouth fell open and her eyes bore into Mythril. “No, he wanted it because it was a one hand he didn’t have. He doesn’t even use one-handed weapons. Not since his path split dagger specialist.”

“Why doesn’t he just re-spec then?”

Selrah had closed her mouth but she was now shaking her head. “Re-spec?”

Saliva caught in his throat and suddenly Mythril couldn’t help but think he had begun to say something he shouldn’t. At the same time, how could Selrah understand a calling branching into something else but not the idea of choosing where it goes.

“Sure,” she continued when Mythril said nothing. “And I’ll just roll around in the woods and become a druid should I? Put some branches in my hair and say I’m a Dryad, or up my sleeves and say I’m a Noxiri.” She laughed to herself, and Mythril did little but offer a slightly confused smile in reply.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, only now to the back of her head as she continued in the direction they had originally been heading. “I don’t think I understand what is happening here anyway.”

The street had gathered more of a crowd and people, if you could call them that, bustled between the open doorways. On their way into the town the majority of buildings had been of a similar size of build, but as the neared what appeared to be the centre of the town they appeared twice the size of ones such as the vials or potions shop he had first past and seen Konspiracy inside.

From smaller rooftops signs swung in the gentle breeze, upon them markings that symbolized what the merchant had for sale, but just up ahead on the larger buildings it was banners that billowed, the colours of black and gold shining against the sun.

The image that centred the banners was that of coins, and being plunged into them a sword. It was in this direction that Selrah was leading him.

Mythril dodged a dagger as it was thrown in the air and caught on the gloved fingertip of a dwarf, dipped under the arm of an elf whose blue hair and bright white skin left him feeling cold even in the warm glow of the sun.

“There’s hardly anyone here,” Selrah said as they approached the stone staircase that led up to the building. “I wonder if Kon was right in saying something is wrong, or in thinking the Noxiri Knights really have ruined it for the rest of us.”

They entered through the open door and with little than a few steps over the threshold Mythril wanted to run screaming back out.

In front of him stood something of nightmares, a beast so tall he need not cower in its presence to appear small, limbs made of deep black branch and bright white bone, and its head, no more than the skull of a horned animal, the eyes aglow inside, a dark purple.

It locked Mythril in his gaze, piercing his very soul to the point where he could no longer bear but to push his hand against his chest in protection.

“Been waiting a bloody hour,” the beast said, folding its arms with a crunch of branch against bone and a tut from its mouth. “Maybe you’ll get more sense out of them but from what I’m hearing there’s no point in us being here.”

The voice was deep, and echoed in his ears like they were a cavern and the beast spoke only into them, but the words were informal, complaintive even.

“Not one of the Noxiri Knights then?” Selrah asked, looking the creature up and down.

The skull of it pulled back, the mouth dropped open and it laughed. “Do I look like I belong with those self-righteous idiots. Don’t answer that.”

It waved its hand into its satchel and after tapping on its scroll a couple of times a tabard swung down to its hips. Lilac with green edges, the image of a tree full of leaves and life in its middle.

“I’m with Love Yew Moor,” it said and then reached its hand out to Selrah. “Jumin, to be precise. And who are you two lovely, uh.” The creature stopped for a moment, and had it had eyes Mythril was certain it would have squinted to take a closer look at Selrah. “Gosh, you’re a fey elf, aren’t you? I guess you’re one of the few to faction with Elder Moor.”

“Neutral,” Selrah said with a wave of her hand.

“Unusual,” Jumin replied, mimicking the same wave but along with it showing a wicked smile. “Your names?”

“Selrah and Mythril,” Mythril stepped in, his fear turned to intrigue and, in seeing that Jumin offered forth his hand to shake, a strange curiosity in knowing how it felt.

Jumin took his hand and wrapped his longer fingers around it. The bone was hard and cold, and the branch felt solid despite its cracking, but coarse against his skin. He gripped it for a little longer than Mythril had expected and looking up saw that the Noxiri, as he had come to learn he was, looked down at him with a similar intrigue.

“I think I know who you two are now.” Jumin pushed his fingers to his sharp jawline, tracing his thumb over it. “Selrah and Mythril, you’re of Elder’s Chosen. Going for the big battle tomorrow, right?”

Selrah took Jumin’s hand as he brought it back down to shake hers. “That’s right,” she replied, “It’s why we’re here. Hubert Shortear is supposed to gift any who capture the griffon babes with an elixir to ward off elements by quite a high margin.”

“So, the rumours true that you still don’t know which Elder you’re about to forsake this world with then?”

Jumin’s words spoke of fear, but his expression remained jovial as he turned his attention back to Mythril. “If what I hear is true, I’m sure we’re in good hands with you. Not that we’ll benefit from it like your guild will, of course.”

“Well, of course,” Selrah responded, as though this was obvious. “But it will be a benefit to all of Elder Moor. It will grant us an advantage against the other factions and perhaps finally we will take The Capital.”

“You’re neutral,” Jumin remarked. “What do you care if Elder Moor put forth a king or queen for the capital.”

“I care because without a king or queen on the throne in the capital I can’t choose a faction.”

Jumin’s comment had obviously hit a nerve with Selrah, and seeing that she stood with her hand at her satchel Mythril wondered if she planned to do something more than defend her position. From the way Jumin brushed a hand against one of the horns that curved out from his head, whatever it was Selrah may have shown she may do, didn’t bother him in the slightest.

“Who’s next?”

The three of them turned to see an elf leaning across a desk, playing idly with a pen. He could have been standing there the entire time from how bored he looked in that moment.

“You know that I am,” Jumin said. For the first time Mythril heard irritation in the form of a low growl in the Noxiri’s voice. “Have you found the scrolls yet, or not?”

“Can’t find what you don’t give me time to look for.”

Jumin clenched his hands with a creak and opened his jaw wide with a crack. “Shortear, if you do not stop playing games I will tear off the tip of the other ear and leave you as Hubert Noears.”

Hubert stared at Jumin’s chest, and then back up to the noxiri’s eyes. “Bit rich you trying to be threatening while wearing a pink tabard.”

“It’s lilac,” Jumin snapped. He threw a hand up in the air, a sleek staff appearing in his grip.

Selrah stepped back, a protective arm reaching forward and by the back of Mythril’s shirt pulling him with her. “This isn’t our fight,” she muttered.

Hubert Shortear rolled his eyes, and brushed a hand through his red hair. Pushing the pen out of the way in the same uninterested fashion he played with it only a few minutes before, he flicked his hand over to reveal an arrow in his hand.

“Parchment beats ore,” he said before leaping on the desk with such speed that in surprise Mythril stumbled backwards and into Selrah.

“Should we leave?”

“No,” Selrah replied, her hand now on Mythril’s shoulder. “It may not be our fight, but we can still watch.”

Jumin was behind Hubert before Mythril could even blink. His long noxiri hands gripped around the elf’s neck and pulling it backwards Mythril saw that his staff had gone. In its place the tips of his fingers had lengthened into vicious edges, Jumin’s nails jagged and long.

“Noxiri beats arsehole hunter,” he said, pushing the tips into his skin. “I think you forgot the origins of my kind, elf.”

When Hubert had first pounced upon the table Selrah’s grip had tightened on Mythril’s shoulder. Now that Jumin had him in his grasp she had released him and was rustling around in her satchel. She pulled out her scroll and eagerly swiped across until she reached a page Mythril was yet to examine but recognised well.

“[Noxiri’s Pledge],” she said aloud, her eyes wide while she read. “I’ve not seen that used before, and right before it [Panther’s Gift].” She looked up to Jumin who was starting to loosen his grip on the hunter.

Despite how he had been defeated with such ease Hubert seemed unphased and stepped down from the desk, even offering Jumin a hand to offer his help.

“Hard to forget how you were created given the festival to celebrate it brings me in a good wage every year.”

Jumin had accepted Hubert’s hand and now stood beside him on the other side of the desk. They chatted as though the two had moments before found common ground and not been about to gouge each other’s eyes out.

“Excuse me,” Selrah interrupted, stepping forward and brandishing her scroll. “It says on here that the annual event of Elder Wylds begins today. I would like two parchments for each quest,” before Hubert could interject Selrah continued, “One for me and one for Mythril.”

“He can’t ask for one himself?” Jumin asked, his eyes glancing at the chest plate Mythril wore and then down to his mail booted feet.

The expression on the noxiri’s face left Mythril feeling exposed, as though the truth that he hadn’t even known what he was supposed to be asking for was written all over his face, or even worse, the truth he didn’t even belong in this body, if you could call it that.

“It doesn’t matter who asks for it,” Hubert replied. “I can’t hand out quest parchments I don’t have. They’ve all been taken, and with them I’m sure the griffons are gone too.”

Selrah tapped her nails against the desk, earning herself a disgruntled look from Jumin. She turned to Mythril, and then as though he had given her the idea she swung back round to Hubert, and slammed her hand down on the desk.

“We need the elemental resistance vials, there must be some other way to get them.”

Hubert raised a flame red brow and looked down to Selrah’s hand. “I suppose you could go to my cabin and gather some more parchments.”

This gained the attention of both Selrah and Jumin, who previously had been leaning against his staff and only half listening.

“You have more parchments? Why haven’t you been to collect them?”

Hubert balanced the pen across his palm. “I’m not the one that needs elemental resistance vials, you are.”

It was true and that seemed to only frustrate Selrah further. “Fine, we’ll go to your cabin and collect them. Where is it?”

Hubert said nothing, but turned and strode to a room in the back.

“I guess where there’s a will there’s a way,” said Mythril leaning with his elbows against the desk hoping to get a better view of what was in the room Hubert had left through.

The door was open but through it he could see little more than wooden cabinets along the walls and a small desk with a stack of gold upon on. One tower of coins had been spilled but with Hubert the only one it looked to be using that room it was left, scattered and glinting against the wood.

Hubert reappeared with three bound and rolled parchments in his hands. “I suppose you want one too?” he asked, looking up to Jumin, his eyelids half shut over his eyes.

“I’m not after the vials but another item, so yes, I’ll take one.”

Wanderer,

Lone I have lived amongst the trees, sheltered from the very wilds wherein I belong. Ventured forth I bring to you the news of creatures glorious and bold, yet alas, my words are left in a place I cannot return. With it gone my knowledge of where these creatures’ dwell.

Bring to me the scrolls and I am sure that upon it will be the words we need to learn of their place in the wilds once more.

Hubert Shortear

Hubert handed one to each of them and no sooner had Mythril ran his eyes over the text and hovered his thumb over the word ACCEPT had the parchment disappeared. Neither Selrah or Jumin seemed phased by this and so he also acted as though it were perfectly normal for letters to vanish into thin air once read.

He also attempted to pretend it wasn’t unusual at all that a quest giver should lose the parchments needed for the griffons yet have at hand one each for them to retrieve these from his cabin. Mythril couldn’t help but wonder if this was where the quest actually began, and as such, couldn’t help but bring to mind what kind of dangers might await at the cabin. He’d have put his hand to his sword, had he known how to draw it.

“I’ll be off then,” Jumin said, patting a hand upon Mythril’s shoulder. “Best of luck to the both of you for tomorrow. Remember, I’m a noxiri, a fire elder running loose won’t be best welcome. Tame it, whatever it is.”

Jumin left with a final nod of his head to both Mythril and Selrah, and once Selrah had her satchel in place they left soon behind him.