Twirling her wrist in a circular motion, Princess Caerleon clung to life by utilizing her sorcery. Mela Sif Caerleon was born and raised in Acre, a glorious kingdom by the Hy Byscil Bay. The Hy Byscil Cliffs were the outlying region of Acre and they had thin wheat fields coating their rocky exterior. It seemed impossible but true. These meadowy fields of wheat ensured the human capital city of Acre had the most fresh and delectable bread. But those mornings of fresh baked cinnamon rolls and croissants were a faded memory which only belonged to the past. Though twenty-nine year old princess was in the beginning phase of puberty when the world took a turn for the worse, she still could recall the expressions on her parents' faces which would confuse her as they tucked her into bed. Her mother and father were kind rulers who did their best to keep their kingdom safe, as well as happy.

Though her brother was three years younger than her, he would claim the throne when the time was right. It didn't bother Mela as she grew older but when she was younger, she felt cheated and though her parents couldn't explain it very well, she understood it was tradition. In her mind it was a stupid tradition that should be changed but as she grew up and the world began to morph into a dismal place, she learned that life wasn't fair and often made little sense. Despite the rift between her and her brother, Raxell, they grew very close during their teenage years. This was likely due to the lessons they were taught. Both were given basic training with the sword, bow, axe and staff. Then they were taught about the four basic elements that magic gave birth to.

Raxell was quite skilled in combat whereas Mela found her niche with magic and potion making. The two trained together and developed a fine chemistry of being able to fight in sync to enhance one another's attacks. Mela often created shields out of rock and soil and would hurl fireballs or iceballs at the target from afar while Raxell dashed forward and take care of heavy damage. They were trained under same masters who became parental figures to the royal teenagers when their parents were busy trying to deal with the damages that were going on in the city. Mela could recall one winter, about four years into the plight when a massive tidal wave crashed into the side of their city and took out half of the Hy Byscil Cliffs. The golden wisps of wheat flowing in the wind, overlooking Acre were iconic and losing them, damaged the city's morale.

Even so, the Caerleon family didn't waiver.

Mela and Raxell trained even harder and would take turns inspecting the city for intruders. If there was someway to help, Mela would find it. When she turned nineteen, she asked her father for permission to travel outside of Acre in order to further her dream of helping the world, even those who were non-human. Her father denied her request which sent the girl into a sea of depression. For several weeks she didn't speak to anyone, she hardly ate until she had a visit from one of the elderly residents of Acre who wanted to thank her and Raxell for all the help that they gave her, looking after her pets and making sure her area was safe. Seeing that her attempts were successful, Mela found her fire had been rekindled. She decided to continue to focus on the humans she could help. When Raxell turned eighteen, he was taken by his father to learn more about ruling.

With her brother busy with her father, this left Mela alone.

Still, she continued to patrol the city and the outskirts. Several times she had defended the border with her sorcery from opposing elves or dwarfs. On one occasion she could have sworn she saw a mermaid from the shore of Hy Byscil Bay. As things grew worse, she began to see people fleeing the city. They were either fed up with how bad things were, or they were scared that the army of sorcerers and sorceresses couldn't hold off large scale attacks. If Mela couldn't join the army or protect her city on her own, she felt an even stronger need to leave and make change happen somehow. Before she could make preparations to go on out on her own, Raxell stopped her when he caught her rummaging through the kitchen. He pointed out that leaving suddenly wasn't how she really wanted things to go. The two siblings agreed that they needed to spend more time together

And that's what they did. Both Mela and Raxell went back to training together, just as they had done so many years ago. But fifteen years after the initial destruction of most of the world, King Caerleon decided they needed to move the Prince and Princess to another location for their own safety. Once they were settled, he would send his wife along too. King Caerleon wanted to stay by his city and restore it to its former glory but for now, he had to think about his loved ones, as it seemed the people were beginning to revolt out of fear and anger for the world's situation. In reality, Acre had done rather well compared to most other cities and capitals. Mela and her brother were given an escort by the army to the safe house which was about a two week's journey from their home by the frisky ocean.

As they traveled, Mela found her eyes wandering, soaking in every detail of the land. Though it was barren, she still fund beauty in it. On the tenth night, Mela gathered her things and went to do some exploring while the small troop, plus Raxell, were preparing dinner. As she wandered around, she lost sight of her bearings and found herself separated from the group. The adult was skilled enough to not lose her head. She ended up setting up a camp of her own and got a fire going with her magical talents. She conjured up some water as well, but didn't sleep much as she was on the lookout for any danger. Three days passed and she still couldn't reunite with the others. Panic and fatigue were slowly setting in. Mela had used her skills to keep herself warm and hydrated but it cost her energy.

With the sun dipping below the dusty horizon, Princess Caerleon knew the end of this third day would be important. She needed to find another village or town soon or her supplies would run out, as would her luck. Mela brushed her blond hair back behind her pointed ears. Yes, she was a quarter elf and as such, she had inherited the dominate trait of pointy ears. It was something that should have hindered her development but it strengthen her. While ties with the elves were tattered, the woman had taken pride in her heritage and as such, had the ability of keen listening skills. Despite the advantage, she couldn't detect where her brother had gone off to. She knew he was more than capable of taking care of himself once he got to the safe house but it didn't stop the older sister from worrying.

Quickly glanced to the west, she could hear footsteps.

Were they friend or foe?

Mela braced herself for a fight by arming herself with her thin sword, a gift from her father on her eighteenth birthday. Princess Caerleon was tired from the travel and magical use, even so, she wasn't going to back down and give up. Three shadows soon took the form of armor clad dwarfs. They began to yell at her, ignoring her dark green fancy attire, a signature of humans in Acre. They not only produced wholesome baked goods, but also green intricate jewelry. Her pointed ears were hidden behind her sleek blond hair and her blue eyes tried to remain focused. "Get back, you're picking a fight with the wrong woman!" She growled. Though she had battle experience, fighting didn't exactly bring a smile to her face. Since she also had a talent for making potions that could heal or enhance someone's skills, she preferred to help rather than make war with words or wounds.

The trio seemed to laugh at her. Even though they were shorter than her, they were armed and in a better state. As they began to draw their weapons, she jumped back and used a spell to create a wind tunnel around her blade so her attacks would jettison them away from her. At the most, they would get cut from the sharp winds. She didn't feel like fighting, she wanted a real meal and she wanted to see her family again. "Stay back or I won't hold back." Mela said as two charged at her. She swung her sword and the two men were thrown back several feet. The third one hurried toward her and slid, aiming a kick at her shins. While she had her stylish armor on, her own health had suffered, as well as her emotional state. So when the armored boot connected with her, Mela fell back and dropped her sword. She was tired and she missed her home. She regretted wandering off, even if she thought she couldn't help it.

Getting to her feet, she didn't bother with her sword anymore and began to build a fireball, she would end this, even if it killed her. Clearly her enemies were reckless and didn't deserve to live. It angered her to see life wasted, to see people hurt one another. But if she could stop just these three from harming anyone else, Mela wouldn't hesitate to jump into the fray. "Looks like burnt dwarfs are on the menu tonight." The woman smirked boldly as the sun finished setting, letting her growing fireball which was almost as big as her face, illuminate the area around them. The two who had been thrown back now got to their feet and were also advancing on the princess. They laughed and claimed their special armor which had been forged in the Obsidian Cavern would resist fire but since her knowledge was limited to what she read in books, she wasn't sure if they were lying or not. There was one way she could find out. "Either you're lying or I'm crazy, let's find out." Mela said loudly as her fireball grew even larger.

Just then she felt a massive sharp pain roll from her stomach up to her head. She had reached the limit of her magic. Having used it so frequently over the past 74 hours or so, Princess Caerleon could only rely on her sword skills, so she quickly lunged for it but one of the dwarfs picked it up and pointed it at her. "Your mouth is too big for your own good, now it's our turn to have some fun."

Mela clenched her jaw and eyed the trio, determined to stand her ground.

Ancient legends spoke of the beauty of the elves; that they were born in the mould of divine perfection and generously blessed by the Gods themselves. Like any other flawless tale though; they heaved little truth along the way as they leaped from slippery tongue to eager ear and continued around the realm through a constant repeat. Once in a while a storyteller would tweak and upgrade the spoken saga into something grander for the next man to hear, spreading more awe and fascination than the previous version.

Valerian Mithanil was a stark contrast walking further and further away from the crooked fable. Like almost any other man ever fighting upon a battlefield, the retired Sergeant had been deeply marked by the high price of battle. Sweet Lady Luck must have smiled down on him that day, as the facial injury he had fallen for had been a gruesome one. Whatever outer splendour he had possessed prior to the battle, had been lost in the swing of a sword. The damage had been made in an instant, but the healing process had taken a lot of time. It had taken years to battle the infections from the poor needlework done by an aspiring healer, and the brutal wound had after many close calls, closed itself with a red and purple hue covering his healed skin. The scaring ran deep, as pieces of his flesh had gone missing from the impact blow, leaving the surface even more uneven for the needle man to work with.

How he had succumbed to the injury where after a couple of decades utterly trivial in his opinion, as shame wished to push the memory from the face of the earth. A portion of embarrassment was the one of the leading reasons for the fact that he concealed the damaged, right side of his face using the crimson headscarf. Pulling down the worn and sun bleached fabric just enough to hide the hollow eye socket. Another product of the heavy damage, and the scaring did continue below and further down his chin. Only stopping just by the right side of his upper lip.

Suffering such a massive trauma had been the end game for Valerian, albeit many different reasons had added up to the final collapse. What allegiance the soldier once had pledged to their foolish Queen had been left on the battlefield, but it had taken him months to come to terms with his own failing morale and loyalty. Half-believing that fighting for the rebels and their light at the end of the tunnel would ignite his desire to fight for what was right, he had joined their troops on top of mount Memnon. The few months spent up there had been even harsher than before, as food was even scarcer and the rough winds froze the old keep. A third of them had starved to death on top of that mountain before the snow finally began to melt, but it was not all for naught. At least not for Valerian. He remembered the first time the spirit had whispered into his ear. Soft, low words begging to be heard; a calm plea for help he had consciously ignored in the beginning. Then one day, while digging graves for meagre skeletons, she had whispered yet again.

And this time he had listened.

She claimed to have no name this phantom of the world, but after appearing in a silhouette of fresh, powder snow for the first time, Mithanil had come to call her Yrsnö, meaning drifting snow in the old elven language.

In the great time of uncertainty that they lived in, the fair spirit had given him a purpose to continue with life. She had offered something real – something that made sense and something that he was willing to pick up arms for. Naturally, he had questioned his sanity in the beginning of their relation, but Yrsnö had been meek and persuasive, and after finishing the first quest all doubt that he possessed had been rightfully purged. Bringing back the deer from the afterlife had been evidence enough that the spirit was real and that his sanity was indeed intact.

Numbra the Deer had been the start for many wonders to behold and the Phoenix Vale had been the ultimate result of their esteemed collaboration. It had taken them close to a decade to complete the protected vale and when he had ventured from the sheltered place, it had been a young forest to be proud of. However, the Phoenix Vale was just one little dot on the map and Yrsnö was keen to have him keep going. Wishing to save the world, she once again sent out the retired Sergeant beyond the valley and onto the path for the next big thing. Having stayed at one place for so long, it was a nice change of pace to see the world beyond the mountains again. Having once been a valued scout for the Queen’s army, traveling came to him easily. However, wayfaring in enemy territory demanded some extra finesse and like any man with some sense in his head, he stayed clear of any larger roads that would lead him to civilization.

Entire landscapes had changed due to the massive deforesting that had plagued the land for many decades. Lengthy and far-stretched plains were all that was left to gaze upon. A forest sheltered one from snooping by passers, but out in the open one was completely exposed both to man and the elements. It was one of the many reasons to why he chose to take rest during the bright day and travel during the cold night, using the devouring darkness as protecting cover from any curious soul.



Having just ridden up a large hill, Valerian brought the red mare to a sudden halt when he noticed the turbulence down below on the other side. The full moons brought plenty of light to the scenery together with the twinkling stars, and he could see four shadows moving about. He studied them for quite some time and eaves dropped in on their conversation as sound moved far too easily over the open plains.

It was not curiosity that had him carefully nudge the mare back into motion, but need. He had been starving for the past few days and he would not evade from taking the role of a bandit to come over a bit of food. Barely halfway down the kind hill, he stopped the mount yet again by pulling on the dry reins. Having only a long stone throw between the source of calamity and himself, he took the bow from his back and the first arrow from the quiver. He had figured out the fighting parties, and saw no problem with evening out the odds.

The archer felt the tightening of the bowstring, the variation in the calm breeze as he gazed down the spine of the arrow. Then he slowly relaxed his fingers after watchfully taking aim, and sent the death sentence on its way. He watched as it hit the exposed area between the shoulder and the neck of one of the dwarfs. The arrowhead dove into the crude undershirt, split the even thinner skin and etched itself fully into the muscle, bone and cartilage of the dwarf’s body. The man fell immediately and became temporarily lost in the high grass.

The second arrow was sent on its way almost as quick as the first one. It hit the second dwarf right in the head, splitting his skull wide open. Despite having lost his depth perception with the loss of his right eye, years of hard practice had restored the precious ability somewhat. He would never be the same marksman with two eyes to rely on again, but he was still damn good.

With his comrades on their way to the afterlife the third, and last dwarf backed away in shock from both the girl and her fancy sword. As he glanced up on the hill, their eyes locked momentarily before a third arrow swished through the cold atmosphere. The man fell like his brothers, but the archer did not stop in his actions. Having placed a fourth arrow on the tight string, he took aim on the last living person on their minor battlefield. He had the bow drawn, ready to end her just as quickly as the others. Upon gazing down on the young lady, he saw her as an oddity. She wore no clothes fit for a traveller and looked generally out of place, which was the profound reason that kept the fourth arrow still on the string.

“State your name and why you are here.” He hissed in demand. “Speak quickly!” Anger sparked from his eye and tightened his jaw. Too little interaction with individuals of the same kind had honed down his social skills over the decade and only added to the slight sting of paranoia.

It happened quite fast.

Mela looked over to where the arrow had originated.

She held her breath, unsure if the new addition to the fray would help her or consider her a threat as the three angry dwarfs had. She was in no condition to be fighting, not when she was outnumbered and without much magic flowing through her. Thoughts of her brother could only give her extra bits of courage. He wouldn't give up, so neither would she. Suddenly, another burst of wind flew by and she saw a second dwarf hit the ground. Could this be happening? Was she next? Though now she was no longer outnumbered, Mela didn't feel her body release any of its harbored stress. She held her breath and tried to summon any last bits of magic. If she couldn't fight, she could at least try to conjure up a sturdy defense of sorts.

The third and final foe backed away and seemed to be surrendering to the lost cause. Mela was fine with letting him go but before she could switch her attention and voice elsewhere, another arrow was shot. She slowly made her way toward the fallen third dwarf, crouching beside him. Her anger towards him had evaporated into the stars above. She didn't know what their true intentions with her. Rape? Cannibalism? Murder? Blackmail? She had heard of horrible stories but she couldn't help but pity someone who died not on the battlefield, but with sorrow in his heart. He had been willing to leave, in her mind. And whoever was carrying out these executions, surely had a cold heart. She was safe at the moment, but she wasn't sure how long that moment would really last.

The figure on the horse wasn't very far away anymore. Even in the darkness, Mela could see he was armed and pointing his weapon at her. She surveyed what the dwarfs had on them, some tools, no food. Her heart sank even further as she slowly got to her feet, looking back toward the new found enemy. His words flew from his mouth like poison. She saw no reason why he had to be rude to her, they didn't know one another but she didn't see why pleasantries needed to be obscured entirely. "Why should I tell you my name?" She called back to him. "Why would suddenly knowing my name satiate your thirst for releasing a fourth and final arrow?" She asked him, not one to take orders from someone who didn't know mercy. "He was going to run away and you shot him." She glared slightly, arm gesturing to the dwarf by her feet.

While most women might be thankful to a mysterious savior, Mela was not.

He was armed and looking at her. There was no way the princess would find time to swoon and be charming. That would be foolish. She glanced around the grassy area and then back to the one on horseback. "Disarm yourself, there is only me now and if you had been watching like I assume you were, you would know I have no more magic at my disposal, it's been tirelessly spent. And considering you've got a horse and I do not, you're still at an advantage even without drawing your weapon. Someone who poses a threat for the sake of intimidation is more coward than man." Mela told him. So far, she wasn't impressed with what the rest of the world had to offer but it didn't stop her from wanting to see more. In the back of her mind, she did consider how to get the horse.

Having one would make her life a lot easier.

Of course the archer was rude and restless and getting the upper hand, given her state, wouldn't be easy. Weighing her options, she considered what would be plausible. She could act coy and use her gender's strengths. In doing so she may get something to eat or better, be able to knock the guy out and take his horse. Money was of very little value lately but she would pay him for the horse when she took it. It seemed logical to her. Mela also considered continuing to stand her ground but figured some kindness might do a bit better. "My name is Mela Caerleon." It was risk, either he knew of her family, or didn't. She wasn't sure he would be very helpful but she figured at least giving him something might in turn work out for her as well. "And who are you? Are you friend or foe?" She asked him. "If you're going to kill me, do it now, if not, do not ever threaten me again." He should be lucky not to have crossed her path with her powers fully available.

Fury.

As Valerian gazed upon the emerald clad girl, all he became witnessed to was burning anger. Her rapid words were like a projectile, shooting at him when she really had nothing left to toss. From the high hill the archer had beheld the tiny spectacle of conflict moments before and had gotten a brief preview of her abilities, but now she was much like a wounded doe. Weakened and inferior in the current situation, leaving him to host no fear for the fair maiden and whatever skills she might possess.

Question after question bubbled unhindered from the sorceress and the elf consciously decided to not voice any kind of reply. Instead he watched and listened, while he made up his opinion regarding the bold stranger. From his rough assessment of the girl, he could tell that she was fairly young. Judging by the dirt on her clothes, he figured that she must have been alone for some time.

Finally offered the opportunity, Mithanil corrected the youngster harshly. “He would have returned for revenge.” His accent was thick in the common tongue, as the language was one he had not practiced in many years.

Retaliation was a strong drive, feeding on injustice and hatred. Perhaps the complete drain of magic had caused a severe lapse of judgement on her part, or maybe she was just plainly stupid to believe that mercy would be a suitable reward for a rapist and killer. Valerian found her incredibly dumb and naïve, but mostly rude. However, it might be a fitting set of traits considering she looked like the high and mighty that had been spoiled by the comforts of civilization.

She had an awfully lot to say after just being spared a slit throat and a dishonoured corpse. Word after word poured profusely over her lips, and each and every one aggravated him greatly. Perhaps she was deliberately trying to provoke him; pushing him for a final reaction. He was strongly inclined to send the fourth arrow on its way and silence her twittering, but he stayed his arm for now. He remained idle, arm and bow still drawn in a readied position, face decorated in a mask of stern lines. Anger hovered over him, enraptured him.

“What do you know of threats and intimidation, small lass? You are awfully far away from stitching school and the security it offers.” He mocked, not being the one to easily embrace insults. Whoever she was, he could draw the conclusion that she wasn’t the average peasant spending the days trying to survive and endure. She was misplaced, an oddity out here in the open with her fancy clothes. Whoever she was, she was most likely important to someone else. Who wouldn’t search for a distressed maiden in a extravagant court dress?

Unveiling her identity brought the archer little clarity. His interest for the human enclave was non-existing and in his years beyond the reach of the social world had left him very out-dated. To him, she was a young sorceress far from her element with nothing but a bad attitude. She acted all tough, believing that she ruled the world.

“Still your tongue, Mela Caerleon or see yourself with these men.” It was a threat, as he had grown tired of her voice. A moment later he slowly gave away to the tension of the bowstring, letting his strong arm securely retreat the string without launching the bolt. He hung the bow over his left shoulder and put the arrow down amongst the herd in the quiver, before he urged the red mare into motion. His right hand rested cautiously on the handle of his blade, staying ready to use it if needed.

Valerian continued to intentionally ignore her multitude of inquiries, as he saw no reason to brief her on either his name or true allegiance. They were all alone out here; every man and woman for themself. This act – this interception of violence – was only a mean to hopefully come over some provisions. He was straight out starving, but he would never take to cannibalism like many others around the realm. However, if he wouldn’t stumble upon any food in the coming week, he knew he had to slaughter the horse in order to survive. The product of a dead mount though, would leave him over encumbered and more than half of the meat would be in the first stages of decomposing before he had the opportunity to dry and conserve it.

The mount slowly carried him down the slope and he gazed quickly over the fallen dwarfs as he passed the first two. They wore no satchels or backpacks, and the single thing that donned their bodies were their sleek armours. A wave of disappointment rolled over him and he looked up at Mela momentarily. The young lady looked awfully thin on supplies as well. The decision to intervene had cost him time and a handful of bloody arrows, which he needed to retrieve.

“I have no quarrel with you.” Valerian began, voice easing into something less tense. “Stay out of my path and I will not harm you.” Since there was at least a dozen meter in between them, he considered it safe to touch ground. He dismounted with ease and left the red horse standing alone before he walked the few paces to the closest corpse and yanked the arrow free.

People from her city were generally generous and honest.

She had hoped other people of the world would exhibit the same kindness but it was evident that most people, like the one she had the displeasure of crossing paths with, was not kind, nor gallant. Mela had rolled her eyes when he claimed the man would not have run but would have returned for revenge. It's not as though that would have been her problem, it would have been his. She had very little time on her own to give certain people the benefit of the doubt but she would have rather offered mercy and then taken it away should it be rejected, rather than offer downright cruel executions instead. Whoever this man was, was someone she could not respect. He was rash and wild and reminded her a bit too much of her brother. For a moment she felt rather heartbroken, unsure if or when she would even see him again, let alone her home and her parents.

As he offered another nugget of input, he mentioned how far away she was from stitching school and its protection and she let out a dry short laugh. He was funny but not that funny. Nor was he clever but funnily foolish. He was terrible, if anything else but she had cooled off as her words ran out of strong wind. He made another remark, using her name while still denying her his identity. Mela wasn't sure why but she really needed to know who was messing with her. Though her fading silence wasn't due to his threat of sorts, she kept quiet and glanced around, not sure where to go. Backwards would be foolish though she wasn't sure if the man had come from a town or was heading toward one.

And she was certain he wouldn't divulge anything to her.

For all she knew, he would pass along directions to ensure she walked off the face of the earth.

The man slipped his weapon away slowly and moved closer to surely inspect what the fallen men had to offer on their deathbeds. "They've got nothing to offer." Which was a shame. They died for nothing, just like her, they were looking for anything. The state of the world was truly devastating. "You should at least tell me who you are." She muttered as she stood there, feeling rather lost as well as hungry and tired. He then got off the horse after he gave her another warning while still ignoring her request for his name. Mela decided to give up, a tact she used to employ when her brother would continue to ignore her. She would stop fighting with him and he would soon get bored and leave her alone.

So in this instance, Mela was hoping he would just tell her who he was. Of course his name wouldn't matter if she didn't find refuge soon. A corpse with knowledge was just as foolish as one without knowledge. The princess bent down and carefully removed the arrow from the third dwarf, knowing how useful they were to an archer. If she was armed with her bow and not her sword, she would likely have taken the arrows herself and made a run for the horizon. Sadly this wasn't the case but it at least meant that her sword wasn't limited by how many attacks it could make. Turning, she handed the arrow back to the guy and glanced toward where he had come from. "Are you going somewhere or coming from somewhere?"

Mela needed to know and hoped he'd actually comply and answer at least one of her inquiries. Having used some of her strength to throw sharpened words in his direction was not paying off as she had hoped. Even so, she wasn't about to cry and make a fuss about it. Mela knew that there would be some scattering of villages somewhere. If her mind was still fresh, then studying maps before her departure would pay off. To her knowledge, there were some small villages around the area but fatigue could be disorienting her bearings. She would rather follow her brain and put faith there, than throw everything up in the air and wander aimlessly. If she had even a bit of food in her stomach, protein preferably, she would be more calm and more sure of her surroundings.

Reaching into her pack which was practically empty, she pulled out a carrot, she had one left but she decided to at least give half to the guy who saved her, even if he was a jerk, he still saved her. Since she wasn't willing to offer him anymore ammo, she broke it in half and have him half, tossing it at him before he set off, not caring if he helped her again or not by hinting toward civilization. For all she knew, the wars had knocked small towns and villages down without any struggle. She wanted to hope her journey wasn't in vain. She took a bite of the carrot and decided to give her magic a rest and try again in the morning, by then she should be able to conjure up a handful of water to drink. Slipping the nearly flat pack across her back, she brushed back some of her hair, accidentally revealing her pointed ears.

Usually Mela didn't care who saw or knew but she had the common sense to be more careful outside of Acre.

They dwarfs did not even have to be a few days old to start reeking; they already stank terribly of sweat and shit. Valerian sucked in a breath and held it before he was quick to pull out the arrow in one, smooth go. In the background, he heard Mela’s continued twittering. Had humans always been this chatty? The last time he had graced the company of a human had been more than a century ago, and the woman he had met then had been of a much more quite nature. This fair-haired lady though, seemed to be cut from a very different cloth.

Of course, any requests for his name were deliberately ignored. The third and last arrow was just by the blonde, which stopped him from going forward briefly. She may look petit and rather harmless in her elaborate clothing, but a woman would always be a woman, and he did not wish to have her little toothpick to sword slicing him up because of a carefree approach. Naturally, it was the paranoid part of his brain that did most of the irrational thinking by now. Nothing could stop the suspicion though, as he had learned that he would rather take it slow and be careful than to rush in and get hurt. Becoming wounded while on the road was always a hassle, and always a balance between life and death when treatment was so far away.

Valerian studied Mela from afar with care and reconsidered the approach for one moment until he finally made up his mind and he slowly strode toward her to retrieve the arrow. He took it without uttering a word of gratitude. Instead he decided to be generous enough to bless her with an answer to her growing magnitude of questions.

“Both, I assume.” He replied lowly, dodging the need of giving up his intended destination. As surely noticed, he wasn’t all too good with people. Whatever social skills he once had possessed were gone with the wind; leaving only an angry, paranoid traveller behind after all those years of sheer solitude.

“What about you, are you going or coming from somewhere?” He shoved back the question to her direction. Suddenly, a small object flew through the air and he was quick to catch it with surprising ease. And as he opened his clothed hand around it, the sight surprised him somewhat. A half carrot that did not look like a whole lot and it would certainly not satisfy the painful starvation, but it would keep death at bay for a little longer. The small piece of orange could be viewed as two things; either as a token for gratitude for the spectacle that had gone down, or it was currency for something else.

”Saesa omentien lle?” At the glimpse of her pointy ears, the old elven words jumped swiftly from his tongue with the strong undertone of surprise. The phrase was hard to translate to the common language, but he was basically asking if he knew her; vaguely questioning if they were of the same kind. As elves, they were far beyond their protected realm and to stumble upon a friend so far away from home was a rare occurrence. And with such a sudden and unexpected discovery, the piece of carrot and the nagging hunger was momentarily forgotten as he almost impatiently awaited a response.

His response left her feeling rather unsatisfied. With the world in such a state, she could barely imagine someone coming from somewhere, as well as going somewhere else. Maybe the state of things weren't so bad. Mela wasn't so sure. She had no real knowledge in the real world to properly assess the man's statement. Was he coming from a town and going to another? Or was he going to a camp, having come from some profitable sort of location such as a field or thick wooded area? All she could do was speculate since he didn't appear very cooperative. When she tossed him the small meager bit of sustenance, she didn't expect thanks or anything. It would be courteous of him but she didn't expect it, not after just spending a few short minutes with the guy. He was clearly one without manners and it seemed pointless to try and foster any sort now, not when they would surely be disconnecting their paths and carrying on with whatever it was they were doing.

When he spoke in elfish, it went over her head. While Mela was aware and interested in her complicate heritage, she wasn't able to master much of the language itself. She was sure her lack of insight would upset him but it wasn't much of her concern at this point. He already didn't like her. Nor did she have anything wonderful to say regarding his showing of character. Slowly, Prince Caerleon shook her head, unable to confirm any hopes that have spurred up inside his chest. She also declined to share whether she was going to or coming from somewhere in particular. If he could be nit-picky with his own discretion then she could she. And she also didn't think she should tell him she was lost and was going someplace, since that place was meant to be kept a secret. In her heart, she knew she would be alight as long as she kept moving and didn't show her heart as much.

That seemed to be working well enough for the stranger.

Not that Mela wanted to become him.

He was cold and something about him wasn't right. She had spent too much time and energy dealing with him and it was evidently not paying off. The best choice now was to move on. If he was coming from somewhere, then it might be worth looking into. Of course he could be lying. She decided to stick to the direction which she been going in before those three ruffians intervened. In her mind, her patience had already been wasted so she saw no reason why she needed to bid the crude strange any consideration as she looked around, readying herself to leave. She used her sword to cut off some of the cloth that she could use to store food or patch up wounds with her healing spells. Aside from that, Mela was ready to keep moving. With darkness settling around them she needed to keep moving or find a place to stop and rest for a while. Rest would help the woman get her magical skills back but since she was using them so keep her warm or hydrated or even enclosed in a stone structure, she may need more time away from danger, not just rest.

It was a shame the three assailants had to die, at least one should have lived but Mela was stronger, knew better than to mourn for those who were no longer suffering on the broken earth where she still stood. She thought of her family and their own health and safety. In her heart, she didn't doubt their state. She was sure she would find a way to reunite with them and help restore the planet back to its former glory. The blond woman went back to walking, with the attack over and the danger left behind, she could focus on what was ahead of her. She had her sword stored, tied to her waist for easy access. Her heart rate had steadily fallen back to normal though that didn't mean her guard was done. A little danger could keep the princess on her toes, prove that the outside world wasn't as hopeful and brilliant as she might have anticipated. Mela thought if she could just find a village, someone might have information to help her.

The whereabouts of the safe house were unknown to her, but that didn't mean she couldn't use her intuition and family history to make a good guess as to where her brother and the others might be. As she walked up along the slim slant of the hill, she saw a cluster of bugs up ahead, their bodies lit up like a fiery candle. They were beautiful and could provide some source of light. In her mind bugs meant that food was around, that the local ecosystem had yet to crumbled. Food or plants surely would be up ahead and that gave her a bit of a hope. Her stomach was yearning for some food but she told herself she could last at least two more days before using a bit of her rations. Survival was proving to be more mental than anything else. Mela knew she'd have to be more careful about judging people and giving handouts. Nothing could be wasted. Nor could she allow herself to be deceived or taken advantage of.