Rowena I

A sharp pain ripples through the middle of her forehead in between her amber eyes, dropping her to her knees. She kneels alone, hidden in a dilapidated building nestled against the black walls of the “Palace” and consumed in the darkness of the night. The only light shining down on her was the first-quarter of the rising moon, illuminating her dark leather armor, her rope braided silver hair, and her pointed ears. She curses under her breath as she rips the dark colored wooden mask from her face. She pushes strands of her hair out of her eyes. She tenderly touches the aching spot on her forehead and she winces from the pain. 

That throw. That blade. It was precise, accurate, and deadly. How could that monster know where her wind summon was? It was nearly invisible to the naked eye, well except for the wooden tether that anchored it to the Material Realm. She stands with a smile on her thin lips with a stifled laugh pouring out into the inky darkness. She had gotten what she came to this hellish pit they called a city for. The Silver Bear will be pleased.

The serene darkness is broken by the pounding up iron greaves on the dirt path to the house she is hiding in. She sidles up to the shattered window, peering out with one eye. A small battalion of city guards, armed with a variety of different weapons and lit torches, slowly investigates the alleyways and hidden spots of the city. One. Two. She counts seven guards, none of which seem too formidable. She knows if she took them by surprise, then she would be able to overpower them all and escape. With a deep breath, she picks up her dark wood mask and starts to place it onto her face until a heavily armored figure emerges from an alleyway. The figure’s helmet has golden wings sprouting from its sides, they are wearing an elegantly wisteria decorated plate mail, and two swords at their sides.

The Silver Bear warned her about this man, “The Diamond Soul.” Honorable beyond belief. Intelligent. Cunning. One of, if not, the strongest swordsman of Odelum. This warrior has over forty-five years of combat experience under his belt. He commanded the last stand at the Battle of the Dawn Ward Forest against the Standing Army of Trassel and he had cut down his remaining enemies to tell the tale. The Archmage of Wyster created two magically enchanted swords, named “Dusk” and “Dawn,” especially for him because of that battle. The Empress of Thorns’ finest general. 

Greer Devarl.

The Diamond Soul cries out, “By the order of Her Grace, find the infidel! Bring them to me alive!” Her heart feels as if it wants to jump out of her chest. The soldiers inch closer and closer to the dilapidated building. Worry envelopes her like a tight cocoon. She whispers a small prayer to the Four Primevals praying for luck and praying for protection. She places her mask onto her face, pulls her traveling hood over her head, she begins to chant in an ancient language, and she extends her arms with her hands facing the ground. The soft winds begin to gather carefully into the palms of her hands. Her amber eyes flash with a pale blue light as the winds turn violent. A wooden mask forms on what would be its head. Its pale blue eyes gleam with happiness as it zips around her body.

“Distract them so that I can escape. Blow out their torches.” She whispers to the wind creature. It nods in response. As it heads for the window, she stands ready to run at a moment's notice. She hisses at the creature, “Run the opposite direction from me. Go now!”

Obeying the command, the wind creature rushes the battalion of soldiers heading directly for the torches in the front. The flames are extinguished and with the flames gone, the soldiers let out a yelp as they brandish their blades.

“What was that?” One of the guards yells. “What happened to the torches?”

Greer steps forwards, drawing the sword on his right hip. “Watch the shadows! They will be back!” The blade starts to shine with a bright blue light as if it were the dawn of a new day. The wind creature rushes past the Diamond Soul’s head. With quick flourish, he brings the sword up in a wide arch and it passes through the creature. The swing hits its mark, but the wind creature continues to fly past the battalion and down the path they came.

She decides to take this opportunity to run down the closest alley to her. She needs to get to safety. Panic rushes through her body. This can’t be her end. She needs to return to him with this information. Her mind and body are out of sync as she takes off running. She stumbles over a loose piece of wood, making it jump into the air and it lands with a muted thud. She curses under her breath and continues down the road. The crash must have alerted the guards because she could hear the same pounding of iron steps on the cobblestone roads. 

The night’s darkness didn’t perturb citizens from walking in the lower district. She pushes through the crowd that had formed around a person wrapped in a red robe spouting some religious nonsense. She knocks over a couple people in the crowd and they jeer at her. She ducks down an alley and peers back into the crowd. Three city guards stand on the other side of the crowd, scanning the audience. They seemed not to notice where she went.

She lets out a brief laugh as she continues down the alley towards her salvation. A large wooden sign hangs crookedly over the door. Inscribed on the sign are the words “The Widow’s Window Inn and Tavern” and a depiction of a broken window and balcony. To the untrained eye, people wouldn’t be able to notice the symbols carved into the doorframe. However, she and her people knew this to mean that this was a safe place. She takes her wooden mask off her face and opens the door to the tavern with a large smile on her reddened face.

The tavern was a quaint and filthy place of business. Several tables have been set up in the fifty foot long room. Rickety stools lined the bar. Only three people are inside the tavern, minding their own business or drowning their sorrows in their ale. A burly Dwarven woman stands behind the bar, running a wet rag over the bar. Her reddish beard has started to go white, scars pepper her suntanned face, and she’s missing her left arm. She starts walking towards the far end of the bar, making eye contact with the bartender.

“Rowena, welcome,” The bartender cooly says. Her dull blue eyes give Rowena a once over, marking the mask that hangs at her side. “Can I get you an ale?”

Rowena had known Barrlow for well over five years. She had apparently left their ancestral village three years ago after her incident with a frenzy of Earthen Jumpers, large shark-like creatures that practically swam through the earth. Her abilities were dampened after she lost her arm, so the Silver Bear decided Barrlow’s talents could be used better. She hadn’t taken his decision well, but she accepted it nevertheless.

“I would love that, Barrlow. Thank you.” Rowena places her hand on the bar, a smile still resting on her face. Barrlow places a glass underneath the counter, fills it to the brim of the stein, and hands it to Rowena. “Is my room ready for me?”

“Of course, it’s ready. There will always be a room for my kin.” Barrlow spits out kin like it was stuck in the back of her throat. Rowena gives her a strained smile as she wraps her hands around the stein. A look of distaste consumes Barrlow’s face as she asks, “Why are you so red and sweaty?”

“Well, I had a nice run around the city. It’s good to get the blood pumping, especially in the Imperial District.” Rowena sarcastically says, taking a sip from her stein. She gags as she looks at the stein. It was bitter. Weak. “This tastes horrible. Do you have anything stronger?”

Barrlow glances over to the rest of the patrons of the tavern, before she leans in towards Rowena. She whispers, “The Silver Bear sent you here? This must have been something serious. Did you complete your secret mission?” 

A small fire lit in Rowena’s amber eyes. She pulls the thick braid of silver hair onto her chest, undoing the ribbon. Rowena shakes out the braid, letting her long silver hair reach the small of her back. She whispers back, “I did more than complete it, friend. I saw the target twice today, but I’m worried.”

“Why’s that, girl?” Barrlow places her hand on her hip. Rowena had been up since dawn this morning. Maybe she was just paranoid from the lack of sleep.

“Never mind. Give me a piece of parchment. I’ll write all the information I have.

Barrlow hands Rowena a parchment and Rowena scribbles ancient symbols onto it with a piece of charcoal. She could tell that Barrlow was trying to read what she was writing. As soon as Rowena finishes, Barrlow lets out an impressed breath, “Fort Myra? Well, isn’t that fortuitous?”

“Send it off now. We shouldn’t keep him waiting. Let me know if you receive a message from him.” Rowena takes the stein and downs the entirety of the liquid, leaving it empty on the countertop. An overwhelming sense of joy and accomplishment washes over Rowena as she takes the staircase up.

She runs her hand up the cracked wall. She could feel every little imperfection and every groove in the construction of the wall. Her finger glides over a small circular bump as she stops at the top of the staircase. Rowena glances up and down the stairs before she presses into it. A seamless trapdoor opens up for her and leads her to her own private resting place. She enters the dust ridden room and pulls the door closed. Rowena’s traveling bag had been brought up here earlier in the day by another one of her kin.

The room was small, but it was sufficient for Rowena’s purposes. The Silver Bear’s plan. It was finally coming true. They finally had their foot in the door again. She grins as she lies on the small cot. Finally, she will be back where she truly belongs.

With us.

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