Just an Adventurer

“Yes, I am a Dark Elf.”

The woman stood her ground with her voice before the crowd of farmers and with the others of the town. Women, a few children, and the older ones had now emerged from their homes. The general threat had passed, but now this latest concern came to their attention.

“But I am also just an adventurer.” The Elven woman reached into a bag on her side, retrieving a metal plate and presenting it for them to see. “My name is Vaelara, 4th Rank Bronze Class. I’m here in response to the request sent from this town.”

The Elven woman spoke aloud, her tone stale and cold. She didn’t add much emotion to her words, keeping herself strictly professional. Approaching from the front of the crowd, an older man walked up to the Elven woman bearing authority and calm. He took the plate, checking it over.

“It is real.” He spoke in a low concerning grunt. “And you’re all they sent?” His tired eyes searched behind her, checking for anyone else.

“I am.” Vaelara reached into her pouch again, pulling out a roll of paper that didn’t really fit the size the fabric was woven for, as the case for a magic storage bag. “Not everyone is eager for a trip to the sticks.”

Vaelara unrolled the paper to present the request. “Protection request for Ralefort. Seeking adventurers! 50 silvers a week.”

“Given that dire wolves appear to be at your gates, it seems I arrived just in time.” Vaelara mused, giving off a slight amusement at her timely arrival.

“But you’re a Dark Elf.” A man called out from the back.

“Look, if anyone wanted to, they would have shown up.” She started, placing her hands on her hips in annoyance. “Plenty were on standby in the Guild, yet even as everyone came and went, this request was here for a good month and a half.”

“She is correct.” The man before her took over the conversation, turning to the crowd. “If this is the best we have, then who are we to argue. And it’s as she said: this town, our home, is far away from the larger cities. And our people are not soldiers. For now, let us take solace in her timely aid.”

The people stood silent for a moment before murmuring and taking their leave. The older man put his attention back on Vaelara with a wary smile.

“I am Sir Reginald Crowt, the mayor of this little town. I thank you and welcome you.” He gave a deep bow, his words sincere.

Vaelara nodded. “I thank you for accepting me. Now, can you tell me all that’s been happening since you sent the request?”

Reginald’s brow lifted a bit. “Oh? Oh! Yes. Forgive me, I didn’t expect you to be so immediately professional on the matter.”

Vaelara scoffed, folding her arms. “I look rough, but I once lived in the Elven cities. I am more capable of respect from the start.”

The old mayor nodded, taking in the words with delight before gesturing to his new guest to follow him through the town’s streets. “Well, to begin, much of this had begun a few months ago. A dire wolf here, a bird of prey there. Not frequent, but noticeable, as the forest animals don’t get too close. Especially the dire wolves.”

Reginald led Vaelara to the main square. While there, a couple of men took to discarding one of the corpses of the dire wolf that was slain. The townsfolk nodded and greeted their elder with favor, but stared at the Dark Elf for a moment before continuing their way.

“Are the wolves after anything specific? Do you have livestock?” Vaelara’s query was a reasonable one, as predators often took to seizing helpless livestock, especially around settlements.

“An abundance of mountain sheep and cows. Part of our livelihood due to the quality of their wool and milk.” Reginald took Vaelara to the farm, allowing her to inspect the area.

The Elf saw nothing out of place from what would usually be a stable farmland. Nothing was broken around the fences or the barn itself, and the animals remained content with their lives. As the old Human mayor checked in with the farmhand, one little mountain sheep approached Zaelara.

She found the creature eager to investigate her presence, unafraid of the unknown. A clear sign of their constant safety and lack of caution. Zaelara knelt and extended her hand, allowing the lamb to sniff her out, pressing its nose to her palm. Everything changed once she ran her fingers through its pure white wool.

“H-hey, what are you doing!?” The farmhand exclaimed, nearly baffled at what he was seeing.

Reginald turned towards the disturbance, his eyes wide. Only a yard away, he watched, baffled at the sight of the Dark Elf’s face sinking into the side of the lamp. Her hands kneaded the young creature’s fluff while it bleated in either amusement at the situation or pride at the effect of its softness.

“Guess even Elves love our little sheep.” Reginald chuckled before pulling Vaelara from the trap.

“Waah, by the spirits!” She gasped, eyes wide, before collecting herself. “How much do you get for all of this?”

“About one-hundred gold sept for all fourteen.” The old mayor counted, recalling the finances. “And that’s more than enough to pay you 50 silver sept a week.”

“That’s right. But don’t you think about stealing our livestock.” The redheaded farmhand sneered. “I’m always keeping a watchful eye on them.”

“No worries. I doubt I’d make it far before succumbing to the cloudy softness.” Vaelara admitted, bringing the old mayor to chuckle again gleefully.

“Shall we continue our tour?” He asked.

“O-of course.” Vaelara stammered, eyeing the sheep with worried recognition. “These sheep are dangerous anyway.”

——

The door shut, and her sword leaned against the wall next to it. Taking a seat on the bed, Vaelara felt the softness of the mattress in comparison to the earth she was usually so used to sleeping on. Throwing herself back, she exhaled heavily, as if finally allowing herself to breathe.

“Despite everything, I’m here.”

She muttered this to herself, but partly hoping her old friend heard her voice. Raising her hand, Vaelara removed her leather gauntlet to examine the marking on her arm. She remembered that vibrant green hue that once glowed across her skin, pulsing with life and connection. Now, it remained dark and grey, the connection she once shared with her forever gone.

A knock on her door prompted her to close her hand into a fist, annoyed at the sudden interruption. Rising, the Elf moved to the door, swinging it open. A woman with brown hair tied in a short braid stood a few feet away from the threshold, carrying a folded towel and soap.

“S-sorry to disturb.” She stammered, refusing to make eye contact. “Here is your soap and towel for the baths outside.”

Vaelara went ahead and took the amenities in hand, careful not to make physical contact for the girl’s sake.

The young woman flinched. “We t-thank you for s-staying.” She could barely get the words out before rushing off.

It held very little weight to the Elf as she watched the girl rush from view down the hall. Despite being in, the service was clearly lacking, and Vaelara knew it wasn’t a normal occurrence; she expected it from the start.

Closing the door, she placed the items aside on the nearby study table and took her place on the bed again. She sighed as a sudden weight crashed on her shoulders. Knowing the treatment she’d give, Vaelara took the job anyway. This loneliness was her punishment, her burden as a Dark Elf. Anxious faces, suspicious stares, frightful glances, and the talk of accusation. She used to be someone great, someone special. Now she’s only someone people abandon and avoid.

“You can do this on your own now,” Vaelara whispered to herself again. “Even a lone beast can thrive.”