“You told me that earthquake would work! Why are they still alive!?” Romulus shouted at the formless visage before him.
“It's... intriguing. They managed to survive a fall of two hundred meters, and the girl only suffered a broken arm. The male was unharmed.”
“Is there anything you can do? An earthquake in that city they're in? A plague? Anything!? I want to hold up my end of the bargain, Master, so you can hold up yours.”
“Nothing quite so drastic, no. This requires a more... delicate touch. I have servants all over the continent who would be more than willing to take care of our little problems.”
“If I could speak with them, that would be ideal.”
“No. You are to stay put in your palace. If your guards catch an outsider in your race's territory, all of this could be for nothing, and if you go missing for even a couple hours, that will raise alarms. I will contact them, myself. However, there are forces that work against us, and they are not pushovers. I will contact my servant nearest them, and he will act accordingly. Just call my name, for I will hear you scream,” the visage said before evaporating.
“Your time will run out soon enough, Amaris. Try as they might, my Master's enemies cannot protect you forever,” Romulus hissed at a small painting of his ex-fiancee, glaring at her confident, subtle smile. “What's so important about you, anyway?”
“Damn it!” Gwynnestri exclaimed, tossing a bloodied cloth to the side and wrapping her little finger in bandages. “Damn that old man, making me craft a dress for that monster!”
“What are you griping about now, Gwyn?” The tailoring business' owner, a tall and thin Azhurian man, asked, leaning against the door frame.
“That old fart in the attic is making me put together a dress for some... some beast!”
“If you worked anywhere else, you'd have been a strange smell in the attic a long time ago. Seriously, could you calm down and elaborate?”
“Judge Amor wants me to make a dress for a prisoner so she's presentable, but I've never worked with a skin tone that dark...”
“Do you remember anything particularly striking about this woman?”
“It's a shadow elf.”
“Okay, seriously, Gwyn. Tell me what it is you noticed.”
“The prisoner in the jail by the courthouse is a shadow elf. I'm not joking. Judge Amor wants me to make her a dress so she's presentable, but I don't know what color I should even use... I don't know why I care so much about what a monster wears.”
“His Honor has always been a bit on the eccentric side, I'll agree with you on that. What did she look like?”
“Knowing you, the first thing you'd probably notice wouldn't be the eyes, but her bust.”
“Ah, so she's a pretty one? If you don't want to deal with this woman anymore, I will happily deliver the dress for you. On another note, do you remember her eyes or her hair?”
“Dark blue eyes, raven hair, dark brown skin. My other notes should be nearby, somewhere in this mess of fabric...”
“Then make the fabric match the eyes. Perhaps with some gold trim? This shouldn't be that hard, Gwyn.”
“That's not a bad idea, really. I mean, we are getting paid well for this.”
“Now, as for the cuts...”
“No, we are not making her look like a tavern wench. I don't want to have my throat torn open in the middle of the night.”
“You're no fun.”
Judge Amor awoke to a tapping coming from his bedroom window in the early morning light. Branwen continued to peck the glass until the window was opened, in which she fluttered down to the bedside night stand, looking at the old man expectantly.
“Oh, you're expecting me to give you something, aren't you?” He asked through a yawn, retrieving a small stone the size of a grape from the night stand's drawer. “Give this to Vanguard.” Without a sound, the raven popped the stone in her mouth and swallowed, storing it in her gizzard. Scratching her way up the stone wall, she briefly perched on the window sill before spreading her wings and taking flight. “Safe journey, Seeker.”
Pacing atop Crassus' carts, Viizhiar found himself unusually frustrated. Unable to figure out why, with curious onlookers not helping, he planted himself on the center cart, facing a clothier's shop. A guard entered the business, and through the large display window, he noticed him holding a conversation with a white-haired, elven woman inside, who held up a package wrapped in parchment, secured with thin string. She and a human male exited the business, locking the door behind them as they followed the guard, package in hand. He found it curious why a seamstress of all people would need a guard to transport a simple package.
“Crassus!” Viizhiar nearly shouted, garnering the fat man's attention. “I have some business I must tend to, so you won't be seeing me for a couple hours, at least.”
“Fine,” Crassus sighed, waving his hand in dismissal.
Taking his cue, Viizhiar pursued the trio, maintaining a distance as they wove through the street traffic in the market, ambient chatter and footsteps rendering any conversations the group may have been having impossible to hear. Exiting the market, they headed into the Silver Quarter, a more affluent section of town in the second ring with large stone houses and some manors. The streets were far less populated, save for the occasional carriage. A poor-looking man with a long beard and dark overcoat ambled down the avenue with what appeared to be a slight limp, bumping the woman holding the package and knocking it out of her hand. He picked it up, apologized, and moved on. Taking a closer look, the coin purse on her left hip had disappeared. The bearded man continued on, sneaking a small leather bag into his coat, the white-haired elf and her partner none the wiser.
“Well, if it isn't my favorite drinking buddy?” Viizhiar asked quite loudly, wrapping his arm around the man's shoulder, feigning a slight slur and drunken amble. “Let's get some mead!” The thief tried to repel him, only for Viizhiar's grip to become tighter. “Come on, old friend. I know a shortcut!” Escorting the pickpocket into an alleyway between some buildings, he waited until they were some way inside before pushing him to the ground, becoming quite serious. “Cough it up.”
“What are you talking about?” The thief queried in a semi-hoarse, accented voice, playing dumb.
“Don't think I didn't see you rob that woman blind, taking her coin. This is your final chance to hand over the purse, or things will get ugly.” He knew the thief could see the polesword slung over his back, and so grabbed the end to swing it over his shoulder should the need arise. “But, being a thief, I think you value your life more than you value a bit of coin. So, what will it be?”
“Take it,” he hissed, tossing a leather bag to Viizhiar. It jangled as it was caught, coins impacting and sliding against one another. Opening the sack's mouth, it was not a flash trap as he expected, just an ordinary coin purse. Pulling the draw strings taught, it closed tight. “I may be a thief, but I ain't much for lyin'.” Without another word, he vanished into the shadows.
Coin purse in hand, Viizhiar quickly exited the alleyway and sprinted through the Silver Quarter, hunting for the white-haired elf and the guard. Passing under a guard's catwalk marking the border between the Silver Quarter and government facilities, he found them in front of Judge Amor's court and office, where a small prison resided only a few dozen yards away, constructed so the cells were all underground. On approach, he overheard mumbling between the seamstress and the human. Both sounded quite nervous.
“Excuse me, ma'am?” Viizhiar began, drawing her attention and holding out a coin purse. “I believe this was taken from you?” She checked her waist to find her coin purse was, in fact, gone.
“Thank you, stranger,” she said, handing the package to her human partner and receiving the coin purse. “How did you know?”
“I have my ways. Considering you're a seamstress who has a guard to take you to Judge Amor's private office, I must know what's in the wrap.”
“It's a private sale. Aren't you a wanderer? Why does it concern you?”
“I help keep the peace. Hunting dangerous monsters that could tear me in half may be my primary job, but I do have duties where civilians are concerned, being a Söldner and all that.”
The seamstress sighed, “His Honor ordered a dress to be made for a particular prisoner that has piqued his interest. He says she must be presentable for trial, and I'm looking to see if my handiwork would be considered adequate.”
“Fair enough,” Viizhiar replied with a slight shrug, leaving the tailors to their business.
“Your Honor, the dress has arrived, just as you requested,” the office guard said, accompanied by the tailors and their escort. The Judge relaxed into his chair and interlaced his fingers.
“Perhaps I was negligent in saying it needed to be delivered to the prisoner, and I had no need to see it beforehand? However, since you're here,” he paused, procuring a key from a desk drawer and tossing it to the escort, “do let her use my bathing chambers, then notify the handmaids to clean as per normal. I'd rather the courtroom not smell like something died.”
“Yes, sir,” the escort said, bringing the tailors with him out of the office, the heavy doors closing behind.
“So, this prisoner,” the guard began, “do you think she's....?”
“We'll have to wait and see.”
She stared blankly at the floor, sitting at the edge of the prison bed, forearms on her knees and hands clasped together, as if in prayer, but her lips stayed closed and her eyes fixated on nothing as she waited for something to happen. A small centipede crawling across the floor brought focus until its shimmering white legs disappeared into a large crevice between stones. She glanced up at her neighbor, who had been busying himself by drawing on the floor with his fingers.
“If what you've said is true, and that you really are a shadow elf, you're never getting out of here alive, you know. Who was this mercenary that ratted you out, anyway? He sounds like a ripe target. Judge Amor probably gave him a large sack of gold and diamonds, maybe a platinum coin or two in there.”
“That mercenary is extremely dangerous. He can cast fire jets that maintain their strength at over ten meters, and wields a polesword that he uses to carve up his opponents like they're fish, as I once witnessed. If you think you're going to just freeze him, think again. He can conjure a flame cloak so hot, it overwhelms frost spells.”
“That's impossible. Even the strongest flame cloaks don't burn until you get in their radius, and even then, they don't do anything against frost spells.”
“I once witnessed a mage freeze him in an ice block. It shattered, and the flames weren't yellow or bright orange like you would think. They were dark red and produced more heat than a busy forge. And I was pretty far away from the action. If you still want to press your luck, he's a dark elf named Viizhiar, but I would advise against it for your own sake.”
“There are better thieves than me out there, missy. The streets are rife with pick-pockets, especially in the bigger cities. I'm more of a break-in-and-entering kind of guy, myself. Although, there is this one flea bag that's a master pick-pocket, and the tax man. Over forty years of crime, and they're still going at it. You'd think those old men would have enough to retire by now?”
Footsteps echoed from the stairwell; several heavy footfalls, a dull clopping mixed in. Armor and equipment clicked and rattled as the soldiers made their way down the stairwell. This wasn't a normal patrolling guard. They were coming for someone. Curling up into a ball, she tried to make herself as small as possible, her senses heightening where she could watch lice scurry throughout the bed sheets, and the footfalls sounding like rolling thunder and the armor as chimes. A striped spider the size of a cat stalked a roach not far ahead of it, then pounced. The sudden movement snapped Amaris out of her tunnel vision, her hearing and sense of time also returning to normal. The wolf spider could only be made out by its movement now, dragging its doomed prey back to its hovel. Removing her attention from nature taking its course, there were three guards outside her cell. Two with steel body armor and open-faced helmets, and a third wielding a winged spear with leather armor and a wide-brimmed steel helmet.
“What is it now, Gwyn?” Tycho asked. “The dress will look fine.”
“It's not about the dress,” Gwynnestri replied, visibly troubled as she leaned against the stone wall, arms crossed.
“Then what is it, if not the dress? You always seem troubled whenever someone walks out the door with one of your works.”
“It's the one wearing it. She's... not like anyone else. Whenever a customer walks out with one of my works, they're representing us. If it's found out a monster like that is wearing our product, we could be run out of town.”
“I don't think the race matters as much as you think. She's a young woman, well-spoken, well-educated. She's just scared. Wouldn't you be scared too if people wanted to kill you simply because you existed? I hope the dress you've made will provide some form of comfort for her. Perhaps it will remind her of home?” Tycho said, attempting to comfort his employee.
“You're a fool, Tycho,” Gwynnestri sighed, turning away.
“It's a nice dress,” Amaris said, looking herself over, her right leg almost entirely out of the slit in the side that ran up to her mid-thigh as she shifted her balance, “if a little revealing.” The crimson garb hugged her midsection and lower neck with equally tight sleeves running down to her elbows. As she brought one hand up, the section of sleeve on her forearm drooped and hung like a hammock between her elbow and middle finger.
“It's to make smuggling weapons into His Honor's presence that much harder,” the guard said flatly.
“Oh, sure,” Amaris said sarcastically.
“Take solace in the fact that while people may look, they aren't allowed to touch you. Not with anything just before you meet with His Honor,” the guard said in the same flat tone, standing upright from his spot on the wall. With a snap of his fingers, the two guards from the prison appeared from around the corner leading to a staircase. “Just watch my six and make sure she doesn't try anything funny.”
“Yes, Commander,” both guards replied in unison, standing at attention and saluting with their right fists in the center of their chests.
Following the Commander around the corner and up the stairs they had come down previously, the two guards behind joined at Amaris' back, flanking at either side. About midway up the stairs, the Commander pressed in a stone brick to reveal a hidden door leading to a garden. The passageway had been cloaked by vines and hanging moss as it opened, moved out of the way by the Commander. Two mages practiced at the opposite wall seemingly oblivious to the sound of grinding stone.
“We don't really use that passage, but it's the best way for the occasion. You will essentially be paraded through the streets, but the walk isn't too far.”
“Why isn't the bath located below the court building?” Amaris asked as they neared the street. “Why under the library?”
“His Honor enjoys a good walk through the city's night air when the weather's right. Otheriwse, it just gives him an excuse to relax with a book,” the Commander informed. “Now, cease your questions until you meet with His Honor.”
The nearer they came to the judicial building, the density of the crowd increased as people stopped to watch. Jeers and mockery resonated from the masses, some ready to throw old fruit or random objects they happened to be holding.
“Just keep your view forward and pay them no mind,” the guard with the spear said. “The last thing they need is provocation, the sheep.”
Remaining silent, she did as she was told, the insults and threats increasing in volume and intensity as they neared the court building, a group of several extremely muscular men blocked the stairs as the other peasants took up knives, pitch foks and torches.
“Citizens, you are obstructing the justice system! Move now and return to your daily lives, or be arrested or struck down where you stand!” The leading guard said commandingly to the surrounding mob, drawing a bastard sword. The other two guards followed suit by drawing their own weapons. “Damn it, these idiots want to start a bloody war...”
“Citizens!” A charismatic voice called from above. “I'm sure you're all nervous about having a shadow elf in your midst, but I assure you, you have nothing to fear!”
“What are you on about old man?”
“That monster could kill us all. It's a wonder the guards aren't dead yet!”
“I'll say it again. You have nothing to fear. If she were as dangerous as you believe, do you honestly think I would have just three of my men escort her to my court?” The shouting and jeers reduced to murmurs as the crowd scattered. “Philto, you and your men may proceed.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
Sheathing their blades, the guards urged Amaris up the stairs and through the entryway and immediately right into a small room with a chair near the back, where she sat to wait. It only had a tiny window for light, illuminating a crimson rug with gold trim that ran up to underneath her seat. Bare stone walls remained close, the bricks her only company in quite possibly the world's loneliest room. People could be heard passing, slowly moving in to crowd the courtroom. The relentless murmuring on the other side of the heavy, wood door never ceased, but in their hushed tones, it was difficult to tell what was being said. One such noise that stood out was a child asking about a pretty woman, and his mother ushering him into the court room to await the proceedings. In Amaris' mind, she believed he must have been talking about one of the statues out in front of the courthouse. She didn't get a good look at them, but by memory, one was certainly a bronze blindfolded woman with a straight sword, holding a scale. The door knob clicked over, and outside stood Philto, once again with the same two guards at his side.
“It's time,” he said, marching over to Amaris and placing irons on her wrists. Motioning to her, she stood and followed Philto out of the room, the other guards flanking behind. The door opened, a large area of flat ground narrowing to a point in front of the judge, an older man with graying, swept-back hair and a small, pointed beard. He seemed to be eyeing her expectantly as she made her way to the chair in the center of the floor, positioned in such a way as to make the accused feel small and vulnerable. The onlookers murmured amongst themselves, the whispering halting when the judge cleared his throat.
“When they said they were bringing in a shadow elf, this was certainly not what I was expecting,” he remarked, earning a chuckle from the crowd. “Before we commence, do you speak New Viochion?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” she said flatly.
“I don't believe I have been provided your name?”
“It has certainly been a long time since a shadow elf has been spotted on our continent. Tell me, for what reason do you appear, now?”
“Exile,” she said simply.
“Exile? Intriguing. For what matter was deemed worthy of your banishment?”
“I was to be wed to our prince, and I refused at the last second. I narrowly escaped death, only because another sacrificed himself.”
“You say you were exiled, but you only just evaded death. Why?”
“It was supposed to be an escort to the surface, myself and a top officer who had been relinquished of his position escorted by several men. Instead, their orders were to lead us to the surface, and kill us. I never saw my General die, but I don't believe even he could have bested those odds. We were taught to always assume the missing are dead until they turn up. If they turn up.”
“And what were the circumstances that lead to your inevitable capture?”
“I was one of the escorts for a merchant. All of his guards were killed by bandits, and they chased him right to us. Some time after leaving a town called Havelaan, we were headed to this city, but passed through a military checkpoint, where I was found out.”
“Have you ever killed before?”
“Not out of anger, no.”
The audience begun to murmur and whisper. She wondered if she had phrased anything wrong.
“Then if not out of anger, have you expressed joy in taking lives?”
“No. I felt nothing when I took the lives of those bandits in the process of saving the life of that merchant, my former employer, who was none the wiser to what I am.”
“When you were a soldier back home, what was your rank and branch?”
“Infantry, Eighth Scouting Division, First Lieutenant. I was scheduled to be promoted to the rank of Captain and transferred to the Royal Guard six months from one week ago, today.”
“What does any of this matter!?” One of the large, barrel-chested men who had previously blocked entry into the judicial building, bellowed. “The only thing that should matter is getting guilds like the Söldner to take care of these monsters! There will never be a restful night for anyone while these monsters, that one in particular, still breathes!”
“There is no reason you should fear this one,” the Judge said, giving a casual wave of his hand. The man's expression went blank as he quietly sat down.
“There must be something that can be done!” A woman exclaimed. “Before any of you shout me down, I have worked on the council for years, and know that if there is no crime committed by the individual in question, and said individual is executed even with due process of law, it is an act of war.”
“I don't care how long you've been on the council!” Another woman shouted from the other bench. “The truth remains, we are dealing with monsters in our midst. As such, any measures must be taken to ensure they are dealt with in the most efficient manner.”
“Have you lost your mind!?” The first woman exclaimed, standing. She was older and quite portly. “This girl has committed no crime, no act of aggression. In fact, she has done us all a favor by ridding this world of some bandits. Many of you might consider this blasphemy, but in the eyes of the law, she has been illegally held hostage by the government. That's not my law, that's the law.” Some attendees murmured amongst each other and nodded in agreement.
“Have you, you bloated toad? This thing could kill half the city in a night and the guards would be powerless to do anything because she could just sneak through the shadows, completely undetected!”
“There is no evidence of nocturnal activity from her race to support your erroneous claim. This girl has not shown any unsanctioned acts of aggression or assault, even on easy targets like the tailor that crafted that dress. No. I stand by what I said. You have no proof this woman is a threat! None of you do!”
“And you have no proof that it isn't!”
“That's enough!” Judge Amor shouted, slamming down his gavel. “Any more interruptions will be held in contempt of court. Guards, undo her bonds and step away.”
They did as ordered, and Amor, as if to prove a point, walked behind some audience members, through the iron gate, and onto the courtroom floor mere feet in front of her.
“Miss Saetham, if you were to kill me where I stand, how would you do it?” Amor asked. She dared not take her eyes off him to see the reactions from the audience.
“Your Honor, I would never...”
“Answer the question.”
“Very well. The easiest approach would be to snap your neck. To do that, I would simply grab the back of your head and your chin and twist hard.”
“And how would you take out my guards?”
“You're questions are quite unnerving.”
She took a deep breath, preparing herself for the answer that was making her heart run a race to perform a lifetime of rhythms in the span of a few minutes. The fact there were also dozens of witnesses to her answer wasn't helping her confidence, either. “The one with the sword, I would kick in the throat, incapacitating, if not killing him. I would then grab his weapon and engage the other two guards with sword and magic.”
“And why not also grab Philto's shield?”
“Because I am accustomed to fighting without one,” she said flatly, avoiding dancing around the question.
“That is all I needed,” he said, heading back to his seat, the audience once more conversing with one another.
Her entire body was now covered in a layer of sweat from the judge's line of questions, causing the dress to stick to her skin. She could tell the soap was no longer keeping her smelling nice as the smell of musty onions worked its way up through her nostrils, the fluid feeling like slime in the fine fabric, making her grimace internally.
The constant whispering and muttering from the onlookers ceased as a young man stood and said, “Your Honor, we have reached a verdict.”
“Let's hear it.”
“The accused will fight in arena matches for her freedom. Victory will result in freedom and acquisition of citizenship. Failure will result in execution or being sold at auction to the highest bidder.”
Only at the last sentence did she notice the Judge's lips moving in unison with the speaker's, mouthing the words.
“This court is dismissed,” Amor said, hammering the gavel onto his stand. Slowly, the attendees made their way out. After a few short minutes, the doors shut with a groan and hollow, resonating clang only iron could make. “Philto, do escort her to the holding cells for fighters in The Pit. I have business I must tend to.”
“Yes, sir. Come with us, ma'am.”
Amor quickened his pace to his office. He needed to contact her immediately. The large double doors opened before him, and closed once inside. With a snap of his fingers, they locked.
“I can't believe you had the stones to do it,” an uninvited guest said, causing Amor to jump. Turning around, it was Levant, leaning in the corner by the pendulum clock. The elf glanced at the time, then turned back to him. “Risky business, using your power like that.”
“She noticed,” Amor said, flopping into his chair. “She noticed me use my Persuasion. I may have just endangered us all.”
“She's not the one you need to worry about. If anything, she probably doesn't understand what just went on. Who would?”
“What are you doing here?” Amor asked, annoyed with the dark elf.
“I assume you're going to contact Matriarch? Let her in on our little impromptu rescue mission?”
“Yes,” Amor nodded. “How much longer must we wait for your raven to reach the capitol?”
“Shouldn't be long. Why?”
“Matriarch isn't the only one I need to talk to. That is all you need to know.”
“What's that racket? Did Levant's bird get locked out again?” The caretaker shouted, opening the plate glass windows Branwen was attacking, only for the raven to give up and enter through the main door, frightening the farmer that had just entered. She landed on the front desk and held out the leg with the sack wrapped around, which was promptly emptied of all contents. Rather than wait for a reward or return message, Branwen instead took flight and left through the now-open windows, where a red-tail hawk returned and sat upon a perch, waiting for its message to be received.
“Caretaker Cario, please hand over these contents to our alchemists. I want to know what's so important about them.”
“Yes, sir,” Cario replied, taking all but the letter.
“The letter, I want you to deliver to our scribes so it can be logged properly.”
“Good day to you, farmer. What ails you?
“I have a problem with a creature I can't identify. It's killing my sheep, several each night.”
“I can have someone deal with your wolf problem.”
“It isn't wolves. At least, not one I've ever seen. This creature has wings like a bat and long, sharp claws, its cry only muffled by a banshee's. Before it strikes, I can hear it imitating a young lamb crying for help.”
“Sounds like a gargoyle of some sort. Very well, I will have someone take care of your little problem. Just fill out this forum.”
Soaring above the city, Branwen took a perch on top of a bell tower, surveying the area for her next delivery. Taking flight, she headed toward the palace and landed on a balcony overlooking the courtyard. An elven man with long, silver hair and pail skin was running a training session with a much less-experienced young man, training swords clashing in time and on instruction. From directly beneath, a large man in a red coattail uniform with bandages wrapped around his head appeared and started walking toward the trainee and his instructor. Swooping down toward him, he held out his arm, where she landed and sat comfortably.
“How is the training going, Colonel?” Vanguard asked.
“Prince Augustalis is improving, sir. However, he still has a long way to go. Sir.”
“It's an honor to be in your presence, General. Colonel Shiro has been teaching me well while you were away.”
“That's always good to hear.”
“General, if I may ask you one question?” The prince asked.
“I know it's probably more of a personal question, and one you probably don't like talking about, but why do you wear those bandages over your entire head? War wound?”
“I wish it were that glorious,” he replied. “No. It was a magic-based accident. A fireball blew up in my face, disfiguring it beyond repair. Let's just say I have only the highest respect for mages, now.”
“I see. I'm sorry to trouble you about it.”
“Don't worry about it. You aren't the first to have asked that question. So, Branwen. What brings you to me, today?”
The raven's only reply was a choking sound as she coughed up a small, spherical black stone into his gloved hand.
“What is it?” The prince asked.
“A message. My eyes only. Stay quiet for a few minutes. I must concentrate.” Turning his back to the pair, he tightly clenched the stone and closed his eyes, standing very still for some time. He took a breath and locked eyes with Branwen before turning toward the pair behind himself. “Colonel, I must speak with you alone. Milord, you may wash up and return to your daily life.”
“Thank you, sir,” he said, leaving the courtyard. Neither of the military officers said a word until it was just them and Branwen.
“What is it, sir?”
“Suno, I may have an assignment for you in the coming weeks, potentially going through the festival.”
“What kind of assignment?”
“By the end of next month, a shadow elf will have arrived in the city. Be on the lookout for a dark elf in a leather hauberk wielding a polesword with a long, curved blade around the time the shadow elf arrives.”
“A shadow elf? And of what concern is the dark elf?”
“This one is female. The dark elf is male. The dark elf in question served as her guardian for a few days before she was finally caught. They're both dangerous, Suno. That's why I'm having you watch the dark elf. Don't be around him too much, or he will begin to suspect you.”
“You are dismissed. Branwen, you should head back to your guild hall and rest.”