“Right. The mission that supposedly has to do with the end of all life as we know it.” Alma remained skeptical. There was still a part of her that refused to believe Qu’l-Nia’s crazy story. The large cut on her forehead began to throb painfully, so she grasped the aging mug sitting on the table and swiftly took a drink in the hopes that it would dull the pain a bit longer.

"Yes, the very same. We had arrived in the city only a few hours before and ended up with more trouble than we anticipated asking civilians about any strange rumors or tales they may have heard about the surrounding countryside. Many people seemed put off by the question and, in fact, your name came up quite a bit, surprisingly, until finally one man directed us here, describing it as 'a good hub for information.'"

Hwalín, who was fortunately still sober due to the heightened metabolism of her race, crossed her legs and pounded down the last of her drink.

"Actually, he called it a den of ecstatic shitheads. We didn't have much luck here either at first. Luckily, I was able to put my special interrogating skills to the test on an adorably innocent busboy I ran into. Poor fella was reorganizing some very awful-looking tables that he tells me was the aftermath of a rambunctious group of drunken bloody sods who were banging on about a certain urban legend. He was a bit hesitant to talk about it, and he kinda clammed up after that… until I blew in his ear and got him to open his gob again. He started spilling every last detail, telling me about a very old tale regarding some type of ice elemental with no name—"

"Hey," Alma interjected. "Don't go sexually harassing the employees, please. This is one of my only safe havens in this city and I'd prefer the peace not be mucked up by some horny elf and Ms. Eldritch Terror here."

"Has anyone ever told you what a charmer you are, Alma?"

Alma flashed a cheeky smile before quickly returning to her typical deadpan expression.

"An ice elemental?” She rubbed her chin. “Is that what this Derleth is? Don’t know if it’s the same thing but I guess you could say… Yeeaaah, I’ve heard a few things—back when I was really into cryptids and stuff. Before fucking boot camp drilled into me not to fill my head with what they called 'fanciful distractions.'”

The ex-soldier clicked her teeth and let out a drawn-out murmur, remembering how she had been forced to get serious about her life once she applied to military service. But it's not easy to simply forget one's beliefs. A belief that's been ingrained within you for years, thanks to a daily life that’s been haunted by hideous apparitions. Yet, it didn't take long into her short military career before the constant mocking and jeering from her peers and the reprimanding from her superiors finally pushed her to clam up about her "childish fantasies." It left her with a sense of wistfulness that aggressively gnawed at the back of her mind.

“I’d first heard about it from my grandhag—probably the most interesting hag you’ll ever meet. Man, she’d always have the wildest tales to tell from all the places she visited.”

“Alma?” Qu'l-Nia interrupted. “What did she say about Derleth?”

“Okay, well. Like I said, I don’t know if we’re talking about the same thing here, but it’s the only thing that comes to mind. When I was a little girl,” she continued. “My grandhag told us about this big monster dude who lived in areas like the snow-covered forests outside our city. A monster that could control the snow and freeze people that wandered out too far from civilization. She always liked scaring us, so I guess that was her way of getting us not to go outside by ourselves.”

There was a sudden spark in Qu'l-Nia’s eyes. “Did she describe to you the appearance of this monster?”

“No. Apparently it looks different to different people. But the elfwin that told her about it seemed to unanimously agree that he’s generally the one behind any and all snow-related trouble.”

“Elfwin…?” Qu'l-Nia turns to Hwalín.

“Don’t look at me, you racist xeno.” Hwalín snapped. She was gorging on the last of the leftover food, dipping some fries in her beer before eating it. “There’re different types of elfwin. This is the first I’m hearing of any of this and it don’t sound like it’s much to go on.”

“Even so,” Qu'l-Nia had paid no mind to the accusation, “that information will have to sustain our investigation for now. It is true that the obstacle of his whereabouts remains firmly in our path, however, we know now that there is a basis for his presence here. As Alma just explained, our query possesses a unique elemental prowess. Of a type atypical to normal humans."

"Are you saying there's a type that is typical to humans?" Alma jokingly put forth the seemingly obvious question.

"She's talking about magic," Hwalín answered matter-of-factly.

Alma clicked her teeth. "I know what she's talking about! One of my… friends is a witch. I do know a thing or two about magic. Kind of. Sort of. She told me it was basically a method of bending the universe to your will. 'Making it your bitch,' so to speak. Her words."

"Alma, you have an acquaintance versed in something as rare as magic?” There was a newfound hope in the eldritch woman’s voice. “And yet she uses a crudely trite if not erroneous oversimplification. There are more than several layers to what you humans would call magic."

"I know! She'd always go off on these long-winded explanations about it sometimes. But, and much to her constant annoyance, I tend to tune out when someone talks for too long. I’m surprised we stayed friends as long as we did…” she chuckled slightly before trailing off.

"Alma,” Qu’l-Nia’s voice spoke stiffly. “Whatever your friend described to you most definitely did not even scratch the surface of magic. Humans do not currently possess the ability to fathom even the fundamental logistics of the preternatural, or what, at advanced levels, my kind calls 'Othering.' What your witch friend, or really any alleged expert on the subject purports, to me, sounds like a primitive creature trying to explain how to bang two stones together."

"Huh, sure wish I could hear you say that to her face." The mental image of her old friend’s smug expression getting torn to pieces caused her to stifle a smile.

Her friend would put it bluntly and without filter, Who does this bitch think she is? It was the same sentiment Alma had been feeling since the moment she first met Qu’l-Nia only a day prior, but wouldn’t speak aloud herself. Ironically, Qu’l-Nia’s pompous attitude regarding her explanations was something the ex-soldier found most akin to her friend.

Maybe this alien chick isn’t so bad after all, she thought.

"As I was saying," Qu'l-Nia started slowly, "if Derleth has established himself as a force of nature on this planet, for whatever his reasons may be, he would keep to an area aligned with the element he has designated for himself."

"And you really think this monster sounds like him?" Alma asked.

"It is a risky calculation on my part, as I have no knowledge of any such creature being catalogued on your planet, but it is a promising lead nonetheless. And since you have brought it to my attention, I suppose even the so-called magic your kind employs here might be of use—albeit crudely—to track down the kind of othering he is purportedly using."

She seemed like a completely different person from the one Alma spoke to the previous night. When she speaks seriously about something, she gives off an aura of infallibility.

"Alma. Do you think you could convince your friend to help us in our endeavor?"

"Yeah. Four heads are better'n three," Hwalín added.

“I’m not so sure I can do that. We’re… not exactly on speaking terms. Why not just use that fancy “othering” bullshit you were just touting?”

Qu’l-Nia frowned. “The downsides of having an incomprehensible understanding of everything means the more unrefined methods begin to make a lot less sense.”

“You’re saying the fundamentals fly right over your head?”

“Your magic does not even reach a state where it could even be considered fundamental. It is far cruder and more chaotic. Imagine a child trying to understand the inner workings of the god that created them.”

“Okay, now even I’m starting to feel a bit insulted—Wait, you didn’t create us, did you?”

“It was a metaphoric example.”

“So, you’re saying our limp-wristed magic is your only hope?”

Qu’l-Nia continued to be unamused by Alma’s goading. Her clear attempts at getting a reaction out of her remained a pointless exercise. It was difficult for emotions to waver, if those emotions did not exist.

“So it would seem.”

Qu’l-Nia clasped her hands together, looked to Hwalín, then back to Alma.

“Setting that issue aside for the moment, I was curious as to whether you might show us around your city?”

Alma sighed.