The Mysterious Elf

The elf reached down to help Azalon up but he shook his head, looking down at his feet. “Thank you, but I need to get this thing off of me first.”

The fox sat up and carefully began to cut through the tendons keeping the zombie’s jaws clamped tightly around his shin. The elf gave him a quick nod and began scanning the woods around them, presumably on the lookout for anything else that might have been drawn to the sound of fighting. Once he had its jaws pried open, Azalon looked down at his leg with a frown. It was bleeding, but not too badly. It would have been worse if he hadn’t killed it quickly, but it had still managed to leave a bloody bite mark that covered half his shin.

Azalon winced as he stood. It was painful, but at least he could still walk. The mysterious elf crossed his arms as he regarded the fox, “Taken care of?”

“Um, yes. Thanks for your help back there. I probably would have been dead if you hadn’t come along. I’m… Gunter.”

The elf nodded and waved his hand dismissively, as though thanking him was completely unnecessary. He was dressed in dark, well made leathers. From his appearance alone Azalon thought he might have been a ranger, though he could have been some sort of rogue too he supposed. Bendigo, he recalled, had been wearing similar, though much lower quality gear. “Well met Gunter, you can call me Remington.”

The elf glanced off into the woods again before turning his attention back on the fox, “I take it you’re alone out here?”

Azalon looked at him suspiciously. People often used phrases like, “You can call me…” when they were trying to deceive without actually lying. It was true, in that he could call him pretty much anything, but that didn’t mean it was his name.

Seeing the look Azalon was giving him, the elf calling himself Remington smiled, “Ahh, a cautious sort are you? That’s good. You never know who you might run into in the wilds. However, if my intent was to do you any harm, I could easily have done so already, or simply left you to your fate, yes?”

The fox sighed and nodded, “Sorry. I’ve been deceived before, so trust is difficult for me.”

Remington nodded and opened up one of his belt pouches, fishing around inside briefly before pulling out a long strip of fabric, “Understood, perhaps this will alleviate your suspicion somewhat. I notice you haven’t yet dressed your wound.”

Azalon nodded and took the offered bandage, “Ahh thank you. Yes, I’m afraid I’m not nearly as prepared as I should be.”

He knelt down on the ground and began wrapping the bandage around his shin. Bandages were of course an absolute necessity that any dungeon delver should be carrying an abundance of. They were only weakly enchanted, but capable of healing most minor wounds over time. Healing potions, on the other hand, were better for emergencies. They could heal more serious injuries and they worked fast, but they were expensive. A single potion cost as much as an entire roll of bandages, so the latter were more often used for wounds like his.

“Hmm, so… what am I to make of you then? A lone vulpine, dressed in noble finery and clearly untrained in martial arts, recklessly attacking a horde of undead with naught but a dagger?”

Azalon winced, nodding along. “Yes. I suppose that must have looked rather odd. I am a mage though. I thought I’d be able to kill a few zombies at least.”

“A mage who doesn’t cast any spells?”

The fox sighed and nodded again, “Yes, well. I’m a… mentarch.” he said, thinking of another archetype that had access to some of the same spells he did. “All of the spells I have are mental attacks, none of which work against zombies.”

He gave the elf another skeptical glance, knowing that he wasn’t the only suspicious one here, “But then what about you? A shady looking elf, dressed like a highwayman, sneaking around alone though a zombie infested forest?”

Remington chuckled and nodded, “Oh, I’m definitely shady… But then you’re alone here as well are you not?”

Azalon shook his head, “Well, not exactly. I have my familiar with me. Willowing?”

The fairy seemed to materialize out of thin air next to the fox. She had been using her illusion magic to make herself invisible, but he had guessed that she was still somewhere close by. The fairy grinned up at the elf, “Hey there, I’m Willowing, this guy’s flying co-”

Azalon quickly cut her off before she could finish introducing herself, “Yes, thank you. She’s an illusionist. Not really useful in a fight against the undead, but she watches my back at least.”

The fairy nodded and gave Azalon a lewd grin, “Yeah, that’s not all I watch.”

Remington chuckled, “I see. Well then. Perhaps you two would care to join me at my camp?” Seeing the fox’s uncertain frown he added, “Look, you’re clearly in over your head Gunter, but I have a proposition that I feel could benefit us both.”

The fox stared at him for a moment longer, “You want us to join forces.”

He smiled before turning away from them and walking off into the woods, “It’s up to you of course. I’d hate for you to die out here after all the trouble I went through to save you.”

Azalon mumbled, “Cocky bastard,” but only paused a moment before following after the elf, knowing as well as he did that the shady elf was his best chance at survival.

✦ ✦ ✦

The elf’s camp wasn’t far, but then the glade was small enough that nothing inside of it could be very far. It was deep in a secluded looking dell, nestled between two hills at the bottom of the glade’s southern cliffs. The trees overhead kept the snow off the ground and the hills sheltered it from the wind. It looked like he had been there for a while, several days at least. A small drab green tent, really only large enough for a single person, was pitched at the far end of the camp. A few pine branches lay crossed over the top of the tent, but Azalon couldn’t tell if they were there for camouflage or for some other purpose.

Remington knelt in front of the stone ringed fire pit, rekindling the flame with split logs he was pulling out of his inventory. Azalon was completely exhausted. He sat on the ground next to the fire pit, watching the elf as he brought it back to life. After the brisk walk to the elf’s camp his leg throbbed painfully. The bandages were slowly healing the wound, but it still stung with every step.

Willowing perched on his shoulder. Azalon could tell she was still nervous from the way she glanced behind them every once and a while, no doubt expecting an army of bloated corpses to shuffle out of the woods at any moment.

She tried to sound upbeat though as she turned to the fox, “Looking good out there today boss. Nearly competent. Maybe one of these days you’ll get into a fight where you’re not almost dead by the end.”

“Oh, so one where I’m completely dead by the end then?”

Remington laughed at the exchange, shaking his head as he stood back from the now crackling fire. “Don’t sell yourself short, zombies are difficult opponents. People underestimate them because they’re slow, brainless, and easy to kill. In part though that’s what makes them so deadly. People get complacent when they’re fighting them, but as you saw, one hit is sometimes all it takes. At the very least it slows you down, making the next hit that much easier on them. While you tire and your wounds accumulate the zombies never tire and their numbers are endless. In a battle of attrition the undead always win.”

As he was talking Willowing glared at the elf and shook her head, “Yeah, no. Nope, none of that. New subject. So who here is into anal?”

The elf replied without missing a beat, “Top only. However, what we should be discussing is your purpose in being here, yes? After all, if we’re to combine forces it should be clear what our goal is.”

Azalon nodded, “My familiar and I are trying to get into Rakenhold, but there are a pair of statues guarding the entrance. In order to get past them we need proof of Rhysh citizenship, and the catacombs seemed like a likely place to find it.”

“I see, then our purposes align. But Rakenhold? I’ve heard rumors of the kobold infested tunnels running though the southern mountains, but nothing of what might be beyond them.”

The fox cursed inwardly at his slip, but nodded. “Err, yes. Before the fall of the Rhysh Empire, the tunnels were once part of a city, or perhaps even the city itself. They were probably left as ruins for some time before the dungeon assimilated them. There’s still some evidence of its past though, the guardian statues being the most obvious example.”

“How did you come by its old name though?”

Azalon didn’t really want to say, but with his cover story he couldn’t think of any way he could have found that out other than the truth. “My familiar. She’s from beyond there, and has some knowledge of the dungeon’s history.”

Remington gave the pixie an appraising look, “Oh I see… so she’s a dungeon monster.”

Willowing of course took immediate offense to the characterization, “Hey! That’s not… Who are you calling a monster? Shady bastard.”

The fox shook his head, “No she’s…”

He was about to say that her home was part of the fae and outside of the dungeon’s influence, but then was it? That was the theory he had come up with to explain her presence in the dungeon, but it wasn’t anything he had any evidence of. Now that he thought about it, her being a dungeon monster was the simplest and most logical explanation. He was embarrassed he hadn’t considered the possibility earlier.

Realizing that he had paused awkwardly Azalon continued, “She’s been a valuable resource.”

From the creeping suspicion in the elf’s expression, Azalon could see that he thought something wasn’t quite adding up about them. “Indeed. However, I still don’t see why you’re attempting to do all this alone.”

The pixie however had finally had enough, “Uhh, whatever. All this talking is boring. Look, what’s really going on is that foxy boy here is on the run. The adventurer’s guild is trying to kill him, so we can’t get any help from them. We need these sashes or whatever so that he can take me home. He’s kind of useless in a fight though, so if you help us out I’ll tell him to suck your dick.”

Azalon groaned as the fairy completely shattered their cover. Remington though burst out laughing, a loud guffaw that echoed off the cliffs behind them. He wiped a tear from his eye and smiled at the pair, “Ahh, now that makes a lot more sense. Mmm, you must have done something very naughty for the adventurer’s guild to want you dead. What was it? Necromancy? Enslave a fellow party member against her will?”

“No! No, none of that. I don’t even know why they’re after me.” He shook his head and sighed, knowing that hiding anything now was pointless. “My real name is Azalon Rushwater, I’m a scholar specializing in ancient Rhysh artifacts. I’m not any kind of adventurer at all, I’m just trying to survive until I can find a way back home.”

Remington nodded, “Mmm, yes. I can see why having the adventurer’s guild as an enemy would make that rather difficult.”

The fox sighed, leaning back against the log behind him. In a way it felt good to be able to stop lying. It was just too exhausting. He couldn’t even be angry at Willowing. His cover story had already begun to unravel under close scrutiny. All she did was accelerate its failure. He looked up at Remington and sighed, “I’m sorry. I really don’t like lying, especially after everything you’ve already done.”

The elf gave him a sly smile in return, “Oh that’s fine. I’ve been lying this whole time.”

Azalon’s blood ran cold as he looked up at him, memories of Bendigo’s recent betrayal fresh on his mind as the smiling elf’s entire demeanor seemed to change. Despite his gear and his obvious skill with a bow, Azalon had thought he was a bit of a fop. His mannerisms, his way of speaking, all pointed to him being a young noble playing at being an adventurer. Looking up at him now though he saw a coiled snake ready to strike.

“Your name isn’t Remington is it?”

He gave Azalon a quick nod, “No, it’s Ravingari. I’m an assassin.”

Azalon nodded back, too injured and tired to even start running. If he did, all it would get him was an arrow in the back. He considered trying to blind him, but even then what was the point? All it would do was delay the inevitable. “Just… make it painless for me okay?”

Ravingari barked out a quick laugh, “What? No, you thought I was here for you? I’ve never even heard of you.” He smiled and pulled a roasting spit out of his belt pouch, setting it up over the crackling campfire. “Honestly, people always thinking you’re trying to kill them…”

The fox blinked, suddenly a little embarrassed that he wasn’t about to die. It took the fairy’s tiny punch on his shoulder to snap him out of it, “See. I told you. You worry too much.”

The assassin shook his head, “I wouldn’t go that far. Never reveal your true identity to someone you don’t trust.”

Azalon watched as Ravingari pulled a rabbit from his inventory and began skewering it on the spit, “So, you trust me then?”

He smiled and gave him a small shrug, “Well, you’re harmless at least. However… I do want us to be able to trust one another. I wasn’t lying about one thing, I think our goals do align. I need a sash as much as you do, and these catacombs can be deadly for anyone going alone. I need a partner, at least for a little while, but these adventurer’s guild people, they don’t work with anyone not in the guild.”

“I see. So you were waiting out here for someone who wasn’t part of the guild; help them out so that they’d be willing to join you.”

“Well, no. I was going to kill someone and take their sash when they were on their way out, a sole survivor preferably. This works too though.”

Again Willowing felt the need to punch Azalon in the shoulder, “See! I told you it was a good plan.”