A black stone glowing a faint purple smacked against the ground. The crash created by the impact echoed throughout the endless dark, lit only by large braziers separated along winding walkways. Faces turned to observe the source of the noise, a line of people halting behind a petite and pale girl, while the individuals ahead of her continued forward in carting a large amount of similar stones. The sound of metal cracked against the ground, two figures clad in armor from head to toe began moving along the line from the front. One craned its head, fixed on the girl.

“What's with the hold up? Pick it up and keep moving.”

The small girl bent over, her arms shivering as she tried wrapped her hands under the stone, trying to pull it up using all her back. Her hands slipped, and the stone to crumbled back to the ground, the girl only managing to pull her bare feet from the impact in time. She looked up at the armored figure speaking to her, shaking her head in response as she gazed back down to her battered hands.

“Can't even carry a damn rock? Then get out of the way.” A gauntlet belonging to the impatient voice grabbed her wrist, pulling her from the line and throwing her to the ground. “Look at her. She's small, weak, unfit for any labor and too skinny to even make decent feed for the animals.” He turned to the rest of the line, numerous other wary individuals immediately turning their heads forward from the sight and moving along the trail heaving large stones.

“What's your name girl?”

“Farra.” She spoke hushed, holding the wrist she had been yanked by.

“Head up to the tents and don't leave. If you do, you'll be killed. There's gotta be some use for you.” The man stepped to head back to the front of the line while making two hand motions. One toward an individual behind Farra to pick her stone up, the other for his fellow patrol to walk toward the back of the line.

Farra continued to rub her wrist, no other attention being paid to her as she picked herself up, turning to a jagged stone bridge that stretched across from the winding path. Farra carried herself along, looking down to see another winding path where she could see large humanoids swinging pickaxes against stone. Behind them were smaller ones, some frail like Farra, scurrying to pick up the chunks of stone that came loose and deposit them into a pile lying to the side.

She looked back up to see another armored figure walking up to her.

“Where are you going girl?”

Farra shrank, her ears flattening and tails dropping down. “I was instructed to return to my tent.” She murmured, trying to hold her head up toward the helmet, while her eyes shied away from the slits in which eyes lie behind. “Return to the tents? Why? That's a waste of time.”

“Because I dropped a rock.” Her head sunk, shivering as the voice hastened.

A hand reached, taking hold of Farra's own and squeezing around it. The fingers traced back and forth, feeling the grooves of her bruised hand. “Too frail even for carrying stones huh? Though I shouldn't be surprised, a beast like you is better at magic.”

She panicked, shaking her head. “I am not like my kin.”

“Oh? No good at magic either? Maybe you're just worthless then. Either way, head to the war hall instead, tell them Gare sent you. Don't lie or wander or you'll be punished.”

Gare waved a hand, turning and observing all along the quarry from the stone bridge.

Farra hurried, wanting to avoid run-ins with any more armored peoples. The stone bridge connected directly to solid ground elevated above the rest of the winding paths. As she climbed up, numerous tattered tents pitched around a large structure made of blackened stone came into immediate view. The encampment's faint lighting made it difficult to discern figures, however Farra had no desire to try and run. She stepped forward to the hall. She could feel the eyes of a sentry standing atop the building, staring at her for a moment before the eyes turned their attention elsewhere.

Farra's heart beat. Between the eyes of the sentry and her being sent to the war hall, she could not imagine what would happen to her. However she did know that it was pointless to turn elsewhere. Even if she went unpunished for her failure to comply with orders, she would die out in the black wilderness.

The ground under her began to smooth. The feeling of crags and protruding stones faded as she furthered herself from the quarry, feeling a dry and sandy dirt shift beneath her feet. Though the lines were dreary, she shivered as cold began to creep through her tatters. The quarry descended down into the ground, and between the people and braziers, managed to trap heat inside. It was something welcome compared the dark plains, yet it wasn't the heat or people that fought her shivering. Farra rubbed her arms, gazing at the endless dark before turning back forward to the hall.

From within the hall, flickering light was visible. Over the entrance a single lantern hung providing guidance as she shuffled across the stone floor. As she turned the corner of the entrance, she found the war hall stretching far back, elongated and furnished with crude, makeshift tables that could be mistaken for being carved from the ground itself. Numerous stones glowed with an unnatural violet hue within stone baskets shaped from the side of pillars that supported the entire structure.

Farra crept forward, soldiers of various shapes and sizes, some with tails or horns, and some with no outstanding features at all scattered throughout the hall. They sat and stood, discussing and paying no mind to the diminutive girl who had wandered inside. She turned, facing a hulking figure that bear facial qualities similar to a lizard.

“What are you doing here?” His voice boomed.

Farra's ears and tails jumped, despite being entirely aware of his presence, the voice and uncomfortable environment was enough to make her body quiver while her arms remained fixed at her side. “I was asked to come here...by a man named Gare.” Her voice shook at the feeling of a harsh gaze, looking up and seeing it realized by two narrow, dark eyes.

“What for?”

The heads of nearby groups of soldiers turned to the girl and hulking warrior.

“I was sent back to my tent by an overseer because I couldn't carry stones any longer. And I ran into Gare on the way back. He told me to come here instead.” Farra glanced around nervously, the gaze of every single individual felt as if it was fixating on her, judging her. Her hands shook as each pair of eyes gazed at her, shifting up and down, examining every quirk, every scrape, and even taking note of her shivering. She felt each set of eyes judging as if to see if her appearance made her story believable.

One of the warriors standing in aside in a group chimed in, “Sounds like Gare wants the warlord to examine her personally. Don't know why'd Gare even chance at wasting his time like that.” He turned back to his fellow band of soldiers who scoffed in approval.

“Is that true girl?” The presence in front of her bellowed and pointed toward the back of the hall toward a figure seated on a chair crowned with three blades, surrounded by numerous standing soldiers. “Go on then.”

“I don't kn-.” She attempted to speak, tucking her head and turning when the warrior's tail slapped against the ground with a crack. She scurried forward, watching her step as she felt the laughs of soldiers began to unnerve her. Farra would pass different people sitting and eating some semblance of a meal, either too engrossed in their food or turning only to cast a sharp glance at her. Her heart pounded. She could extrapolate the thoughts of every soldier casting a glance through their movements.

Farra approached the group of soldiers blocking view of the individual seated. Like a rush of mental daggers, they turned to her, creating a path for her to see the sitting man. Farra eyed his blackened armor, etched with elaborate deep-crimson markings. His helmet remained on like most other soldiers, but in his gaze she could feel an individual, calculating from the very moment he set his eyes upon her. She felt an aura different from him compared to any other she had met, one filled with overflowing ambition and confidence.

Every one of his soldiers around him fell silent, keeping their gazes on Farra, none parting their lips while they waited for the man to speak.

“A beast and child.” He stretched his neck. “A feirin even. Are you capable of magic?”

Farra shook her head.

“Speak up.” His voice raised, demanding an answer.

“I can't use magic.” Farra stammered

“Why are you here?”

Farra caught her breath, speaking quick enough to almost choke on her words.

“Gare told me to come here. After I was sent back to my tent. After I dropped a stone and couldn't pick it back up. In the quarry lines.”

He leaned back into his chair, nodding to himself.

“You're obedient.”

Farra gazed on, the man's voice changed.

“Why did he send you then?” His voice calmed, a hint of interest rising as he placed a hand on a large blade besides his chair, unsheathed from its scabbard, twisting it around and grinding the tip against the stone floor.

“Because...because I was useless. I couldn't pick the stone up even when I tried.” Farra held clenched her tatters, afraid her answer was insufficient.

He looked to the soldiers standing around him, then leaned forward toward Farra.

“Why couldn't you pick that stone up?”

“Because...I'm weak.”

“Tell me your name.”

Farra looked up to the man gripping the handle of his sword. She did not feel threatened. She could feel the subtle approval of her answers and intrigue in his voice.

“Farra.”

“Farra. You are magically deficient though you're a feirin beast, and you seem to lack physical strength which is typical to your kind. I'm not a fool to where I wouldn't attribute part of that to your being malnourished. But I don't see you making any grand displays of strength under more favorable circumstances either. So tell me, what talents do you have. You have been given the opportunity to impress not just myself, but some of my most trusted court.”

Farra swallowed the saliva building in her mouth.

“Mind you, we were just discussing the resources I need gathered from this quarry. It is a simple part of war and unfavorable conditions. All must do their part. I require nearly double of the ore currently being mined in the immediate future, if that means working slaves until they drop dead, then it must be. We will concern ourselves with replenishing numbers after the fact.”

He looked up to the soldiers around him, speaking in a voice full of absolution, issuing a decree to his audience.

“Even if picking up and moving one of those stones kills you, it will be better than being a slave with no purpose. Even if you move one of those stones closer to where it needs to be, that will help the effort. But you are a feirin beast, and being the pragmatic individual I am, I refuse to believe it is your purpose to be carrying those rocks in a quarry until you die. So tell me, obedience has brought you this far, what other qualities or talents do you possess?”

Farra glanced around to the various soldiers, a few of whom had turned away only to affirm they understood their leader's order. Their gaze was fixed upon her, awaiting her response. She turned back to the seated man while taking a breath.

“I-I'm not magically gifted, but I can still understand some spells. A-And I can see things” The man's head turned as Farra stammered on. “I mean that I can see movements. A bit before they happen.”

“Can you now?”

Farra shifted to the side quickly a moment after man finished his words, lifting the blade he had been handling during the conversation, bringing it down with a crack on the ground where Farra previously stood.

“I slowed my strike. Perhaps you were too afraid to move too close to one of my soldiers.” He stood, towering over Farra. “For a useless and weak girl who lacks magical prowess to dodge to the side like that. Interesting.”

Farra looked at the ebony blade, engraved with numerous arcane markings that did not resemble any denomination of magic she knew of. A single inscribing glowed a gentle blue, Farra could feel it fade as she turned from the blade back to the man.

“We will see what you’re suited to.” He waved his hands to his soldiers. “Inform Gare we will depart after rest. One of you attend to Farra; get her a passable meal and clothing. Ready two dahra with the necessary supplies for the southern expedition.”

He stood, pulling his blade back, the entire length standing taller than Farra before he sheathed it, hanging the blade over his back with a thick rope.

“You all have your assignments as discussed earlier. The forges require twenty crates of ore as soon as possible, it’s Lord Valen’s request. Ensure that no slave or soldier slacks.”

One warrior bowed his head, speaking in a voice reflecting urgency.

“Lord Erres, if I may impose, why an expedition to the southern frontier now?”

“Until the drums of war roar, my presence is largely unneeded. It is an opportunity to attend to matters that otherwise would go unresolved. I trust each of you here perfectly capable of conducting all necessary tasks without my hand. A curious opportunity has arisen in this girl, and I will not squander a chance to strengthen us. The expedition is to be valuable reconnaissance, Farra may prove the instrument we needed.”

“I understand, then what shall we tell Lord Valen if he calls for you?”

“To be patient, he will see no issue. Bring a whetstone to my quarters.”

Erres stepped forward, the circle of soldiers creating a pathway for him to exit the hall. Farra looked on as the soldiers convened for a moment, followed by the sounds of greaves, sabatons, and boots filling the hall. A thin soldier, lightly armored looked down to Farra, extending a hand covered in silvery metal. Farra gazed back up.

A gentle voice escaped the helmet. “I will see to your meal and clothing.”

Farra stretched her hand, the soldier curling her fingers around Farra's before pulling her along the hall. The structure had cleared, most soldiers exiting following Erres' troop.

“Can you get up?” The soldier looked about for a few moments, letting go of Farra's hand.

“You're a girl.” Farra whispered in a hush, managing to hoist herself onto the stone bench, the seat as high as her stomach. The child gazed back down as the soldier took her helmet off, unsure if she had spoken out of turn.

“I am indeed. Though that doesn't matter.” A head of dark and short hair escaped the helmet, her eyes dark in the dim room. “I wear the helmet so no soldiers bother me because of my rank. Stay here.” Her boots clicked to the stone, periodically grinding against the uneven floor. The war hall was empty. Aside from the noise the soldier made, Farra's ears only picked up the ethereal ringing of the magical stones lighting the room. Looking down at her pale palms, she curled her fingers back into the scrapes and bruises from trying to carry the rock. A sting shot through her hand, her face wincing in pain. She kicked her feet for a moment, feeling them dangling in the air. Farra's ears perked as the sound of boots grew closer again.

“This should be enough.” The woman smiled, setting down a crude earthen bowl, filled with several stringy roots and cut tubers adorned with a hunk of white meat. Along side it she tossed a tunic from which a silvery mail and other articles of clothing protruded. Farra looked to the food and clothes laid in front of her before picking up one of the tubers with a hand and biting. Her stomach growled despite her eating slowly. She glanced back to the woman, watching her as she sat to her side.

A brow of the woman raised, catching Farra's gaze. “What, you don't trust me?”

She shook her head. “I trust you.”

“Then what is it? You don't trust the meat? It's iliomat meat.”

She shook her head again. “I never thought I would have food like this. Or clothing.”

Farra continued to bite and chew bit after bit.

“How long have you been a slave here for?”

“About one moon.”

The woman shifted, craning her head. “A single moon? What the hell was it like for you before this?”

Farra choked for a moment as the woman raised her voice, breathing heavy when she received a firm slap on the back, coughing the bit she had not chewed back up.

“Eat slower.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be, but we probably should hurry along. A meal won't do you any good without rest.”

Farra remained silent, chewing on her food, shifting her eyes from remaining rations to the clothing on the table. Her tails betrayed her feelings. They waved up and down with every bite, snow white with black tipped hairs, complimenting the color of her disheveled hair. The armored woman leaned on her fist, deciding against pressing the girl with questions. She instead quietly observed the beast eat, taking note of the features specific to her race, including a small upward-curving mark on each cheek. She reached a hand toward Farra, setting it on her head and petting the tall black-tipped ears.

Farra swallowed the last bit of food.

“Why do you all wear armor all the time?” Farra pulled the package of clothing toward her, feeling its weight.

“To be ready for battle at a moment's notice. It may seem cumbersome, but we thrive through war and battle. When danger is difficult to identify and can come from a number of places, it only makes sense to be prepared.”

“Then it's not because you're a girl?”

The soldier chuckled, pressing her hands to the table and pushing off, clutching her helmet in one hand. “To hear something like that is quite uncommon.” She paused, slipping her helmet back on and taking the empty bowl. “Though I think I understand, perhaps such a thing is not so uncommon among beast tribes or other societies. However here it is only your very skills, talents, and merit in battle that determine your worth. I personally pay no mind to wearing my armor so often, it avoids unwanted attention from lower-ranking soldiers who may go out of their way for my favor.”

Farra nodded, jumping from the stone bench, clutching her clothing.

“I find no shame or disadvantage in my womanhood. And so nor should you. I'm glad you asked, it was for this very reason I was decided as your escort.”

She tossed the bowl into a stack of similar earthenware at an adjacent table, motioning to Farra to follow. “Was it like this in your tribe?”

“I don't think so. The head of my tribe was an elderly woman.”

The cold darkness surrounded the both of them as they exited the hall, the knight took Farra's hand, steering them from the tents and instead toward a second outlying structure that rose higher.

“It wasn't very nice there, at least for me. My parents were eaten by creatures while scavenging for food one day. And because of how scarce everything is, no one wanted me.”

“Did the elders of your tribe not step in?”

“I'm not sure. I don't think I was worth their time since I can't use magic.”

“I suppose it may be something specific to your tribe or species. Most I've ran into seem rather defensive of their own.”

“Do you visit a lot of tribes then?”

The woman placed a hand on Farra's back, urging her forward as the two neared an opening, an armored soldier leaning against the wall cast a glance before sinking his head back down.

“To enslave them more often than not. It can be difficult to discern all their customs and traditions in battle or while raiding.”

A silence fell over Farra and the woman, unsure of where to guide the conversation next. The two turned numerous corridors, traveling down dark labyrinth-like halls lit by more violet-effusing stones. They entered a room, dimly light only by light glowing from the hallway. Carved from the walls were two stone beds covered with a cloth.

“My name is Verrika by the way, I am a soldier from outside these lands. I came here after Lord Erres happened upon me.” She began to remover her armor, placing it in the corner of the room, pulling a thin, sheathed blade from her waistline and setting it down. “I was skilled enough with my rapier to pique his interest, even though I and many others pale in comparison to him. He seems less of a mortal and something above the rest of us. Still, he is compassionate and our leader.”

Farra removed her tatters, her albino body reddish and purple even in the dim light.

“You're quiet aren't you?” Verrika leaned down, rummaging through a open crate to pull out a roll of bandaging. “Stay still.”

A finger slid across Farra's back, feeling several cuts, bruises, and sear marks across her body. Cloth touched Farra's feet as she heard a small bubbling, wincing as a damp cloth was wrapped across her back and stomach. “It's an oil, if you know what that is. I would have called a mender over if I knew your body was like this and most everyone wasn't resting now. It'll help your body heal.”

Farra stood quiet, letting out quiet breaths as bandages were tightened around her stomach, arms, thighs, and feet. She looked at the tunic, minimal but more welcome than her tatters.

“Do you see anything in me?”

Verrika laid back on the cushioned stone, crossed her legs and laying her head back.

“If I'm being honest I don't know. But Erres and Gare seem to have thought otherwise, and so I will trust their judgment to see where you take yourself given the opportunity. Rest Farra, we both need it.”

Farra rummaged through her clothes, finding two long black socks. She wrapped the rest into a ball, placing it to a side of the stone bed. She sat bare and pulled each sock on, ending well beyond her kneecaps. Her tails bounced, uncomfortable against the stone, she pulled her old tatters up, pulling one over her back and the other on her head as she laid face down into the pile of clothing.