Hungry Necromancer

"What do you want with the Elven North, cowl?" 

The sense of emergency is palpable; the question demands an immediate answer and yet…none is to come.

From where I float, high above them all and unbeknownst to my presence, I can clearly see that all the bravado has left Aren. If he speaks now…well, it's better he doesn't say anything actually.

The five elves, the ring leaders mill about, setting their weapons aside, some making sure Aren is even more uncomfortable by taking a seat right next to him and picking off where they left off with their meal.

"Argh, this is cold now." The male archer complains, "Do you want some, cowl?" he asks Aren.

Stiffly, he shakes his head. That's about all the movement and communication he can manage.

The man that asked the first question, the man with the large Claymore, he folds his arms and huffs, "You haven't well answered my question, what do you want with the Elven North?"

The other elves that came in with the five are perhaps just as uncomfortable as Aren whom they escorted here, they're sat cross-legged on the floor and wait to be addressed all while the ringleaders walk around and over them as they pull off their armour and set their weapons right.

I feel as much pity for them as I do for Aren; they were the unlucky elves to bring us into this place.

The brutish one who spoke earlier on Aren's behalf looks even more uneasy, he hesitates at every slight movement and his lips tremble and part like he has something to say. 

I think he should keep it to himself and save his neck but it doesn't look like Asher will be here any time soon. A distraction would be appreciated.

"Sir!" he yells, finally summoning the courage to utter a word.

With an annoyed grunt the Claymore wielder turns to him, "What is it now?"

"My apologies, sir. This cowl, he threatened us with the Mayor, he wouldn't leave until we brought him to you, sir!"

"I got that already. But what I want to know is why he wants to see me so bad." 

"See us" the Lancer, a blonde-haired elf corrects, "This is not your Kingdom to rule alone."

The archer elf snorts, "This isn't a Kingdom at all!" She downs the foamy liquid of her cup in a gulp.

"The cowl looks like it was bluffing." The Lancer starts, "It's one of the young ones, I think this is just a prank, a dare, a joke. In their short lives they haven't much else to do other than disturb people."

She straightens and with a sigh announces her judgement, "I think we should do as Daire said, cut his cap."

A cold silence falls over me as I hear that. This is not the distraction I was hoping for. If they try to hurt him, I can get him out…although, not unscathed.

Where the hell is Asher!

"That's what I've been saying!" The archer, Daire squeals excitedly. Perhaps too excited given the course of the conversation, these elves truly are dangerous.

"We should've just gone and done exactly what we do to cowls. Cut their caps and get some goodnight sleep." She relishes the idea of going to bed after cutting of the scalp of a person.

The Claymore wielder, the…disputed leader of this rabble of blood thirsty elves sighs, rubbing his temples he turns his attention to Aren once more, "Should we just cut your cap? Or do you have something important to tell me?"

"Us." The lancer corrects again, the tone in her voice becoming irritable. It seems there's a bit of discourse between the two brutes.

"I…I…" Aren stammers.

I should help him. 

Quiet as a church mouse I float over to his side and whisper gently in his ear, "Relax, tell them what you memorized. We're here, we're protecting you."

He bristles at the sudden sound of my voice and looks about him. This elicits a rather scornful look from the Claymore wielder.

"It's more likely he's out of his mind. I'm not sure what cowl would deliberately walk in here despite knowing what happens to their kind. Toss him out, strip him, sell his things and kill him."

"Wait!" Aren desperately shouts, his arm outstretched. "I have- I HAVE something to tell you. All of you!" he yells, a complete mess.

The Claymore wielder looks unimpressed, "Well then, consider it your last words. Tell me…us."

Aren gulps and nods. "My…Master, my Lord, he sent me here to speak with you, it would have been much later but things have happened and we need to rush our meeting.

"Your master? Who is this master?" The other male elf in the group speaks up for the first time, the one with the sword and shield.

"He is…" Aren trails off a bit then begins to laugh, "I'm not quite sure who he is, but I know he's powerful and rich beyond my imaginations. And I know he's interested in you Elves of the North."

"What interest does he have with us?" The named one, Daire drawls, her lacklustre no doubt due to the delay in scalp peeling.

"He wants you…to be successful."

The claymore wilder scoffs at this, near bursting into laughs, "We are successful, we control the North!" he stomps his feet, rattling the entire shanty building, "We are so powerful, we pushed out all the humans, all the dwarves and all those that align with the Synagogue and the Kingdom. All our enemies!"

"They aren't here anymore because we took control!" He slams his hand on his chest, yelling at the top of his lungs forcing Aren to recede further into the couch he's seated on.

And then, his bravado returns.

"You think you're in control of the North because no one but elves comes here…" he begins, "But the truth is, you've been pushed back, you have been stuffed into a pen like sheep and cattle and when the Mayor or whomever wishes to see you gone. They simply have to stroll in here like I did and rain fire and destruction."

He leans forward, pushing back against the tension of the leaders glare, of all their fiery eyes, "You have been segregated and you don't even realize it. My master intends to help you attain true freedom."

Another cold silence falls. This time, the elves are the ones contemplating his words. This wasn't at all part of the script, but he's doing well, he's got them thinking, he's got them interested.

I think I can see why Asher was so intent on having him before putting his plans in order, did Asher really see that he holds such potential?

"And how can your master help us?" The lancer is the first to speak, "Can he give us what we need? Weapons? Food? Clothes and clean water?" 

She shakes her head, looking at her comrades, "I don't think so, there isn't a single person in this Kingdom who would openly help us, openly help the Elven North. But to begin with, there isn't any one who has the power to help us aside from the Mayor."

Her words stir her partners from their stupor and slowly they come out of their wishful thinking.

"Yelenia is right, only the Mayor can help us like this and we attacked him. If you're claiming to be the Mayor's servant then you can just stop now, there's no way he would help his assailants." 

Aren has the guts to chuckle.

He laughs and laughs and laughs so much I think his mind has snapped and I should pull him out of here.

"My Master is much more than a meagre Mayor, he can do all these things and more, in fact, I was meant to come with said things to prove the extent of his power, of his wealth and means. But as I said, things must be rushed."

Aren straightens up, all sign of nervousness and fear gone from his face, "My Master, will pull through." 

Another tense silence. He's done it again, got them to keep shut and think and weigh their options. 

But I know it's settled, they're intrigued. They will bite the bait.

The Lancer, Yelenia speaks, "And what does this master want from us? He's not an elf…he sent you, so I know this isn't some solidarity in race play. This isn't out of the goodness of his heart."

The claymore wielder mutters, arms folded. "So, what exactly does he want with a band of…segregated elves?"

Aren hums gently, a light smile on his face. "My master wants you…to trust him, he has a plan and he needs you to trust his plan will benefit us all. But you have to trust him and do nothing until I visit again."

The elves all tense up at this demand, "So you've been watching us…you know our next move and you want us to stop?"

No…I don't think Aren knows what their talking about. The plans for attack on the lodge, he doesn't know about that.

"Yes. Stay still and wait for my return."

"Return?" Daire, the sadistic elf starts, "What makes you think you're leaving?"

Aren stands and straightens his look, he steady's his eyes on the leader and then glances at the Lancer, Yelenia, "Because, your leaders know they can't pass this up."