Chapter 89: The Elven North

They look…generic.

There isn't anything too special about them as they stood up there, looking down at the rest of the elves clamouring for a better view of their leaders. The conversation quickly became about personal matters and group matters rather than the fact that Aren had just strolled into their territory like he owns the place.

The five of them look very…displeased at the noise. Two of them have on light almost normal clothes but are fitted with a bow and arrow.

The other three have on heavy armour, armour that's clearly armour. It's bronze, iron and very rusty but I bet it did the job. The one that stood at the centre, the one with the most prestige and confidence exuding off him is fitted with a bronze breast plate armour and an excessively large Claymore.

The other two that stood beside him, one a woman with a spear and another a man with a shield and sword but no armour.

Things are far more dire here than I originally thought. It should be easy buying them over, but there ought to be more fighters than just this five.

True to his nature as a pesky poltergeist, Anselm is busy snooping through their things in the building, they might have as well open the doors for him. I'm curious to what he'll find; they're wearing armour now; I have a feeling they were about to do something…unwise.

"What is all this ruckus about!" the claymore elf bellows. His thundering voice brings silence over everyone else; all noise and complaints fall to mutterings of the hungry.

It's hard to see from where I am, I've made the mistake of letting the crowd flood past me and the elves…interested in whatever is going down have taken up space on the roof. I have to resort to squeezing my way up front.

Hopefully Aren's confidence hasn't died out yet and he's brave enough to live a few moments longer.

"Sir!" One of the brutish elves that escorted Aren stps forward, "This cowl...he came here all of a sudden, he demands…an audience, sir."

"An audience? With a cowl?" One of the archers speaks up, a woman. There's a heavy intonation to her speech, some sort of accent. "What do we do with cowls Elven North!"

"CUT THEIR CAPS!"

"CUT THEIR CAPS!"

"CUT THEIR CAPS!"

The crowd chants like a humdrum of the insane. I think I brushed Aren's concerns off too easily, these elves…they're crazy!

"That's right! We cut their caps! So why…have you brought this cowl here, without his cap cut off?"

The five seem satisfied with their archer's judgement and question, the crowd hums with murmurs, curses and chants for a cut cap. 

All this serves to make the brutish elf at the receiving end of their glare vey uncomfortable, I don't need to be there to see it.

"Sir!" he yells again, his voice cracking and trembling with fear, "The cowl…this cowl threatened the Mayor's wrath upon us all if he didn't get an audience…if he is killed or harmed, they will know and descend on us. If we send him back without an audience it's the same thing, sir!"

At the mere mention of the Mayor the voices of the crowd thrills and changes tune. The Mayor, the attack…it seems this decision isn't a favourable one by the majority. Even the five leaders standing up there begin to look uncomfortable.

The archer from before scoffs and recedes, but the question still hangs in the air. What now?

"Ahem!" The Claymore wielder clears his throat loudly, garnering the attention of the two-faced crowd once more. He straightens his posture, looks around and speaks in a loud authoritative voice, apt for a leader.

"I don't know who this person is nor what he wants. But I know that the Mayor cannot set his boot on our necks much longer. If this cowl truly is a rat of the Mayor, then it means that our pre-emptive strike served well to introduce our intentions."

He pumps his fist in the air, "We, the Elven North! We will not be put down, we will not be trifled with, we will not be striped of our basic privileges to live, to breathe, to procreate naturally without some spell!"

The crowd is getting riled up by his speech, less talk about the Mayor's wrath and more talk about food, clean water and homes. More chanting, more growling, more screaming.

"We will not be held down by the whims of a mere human, this I promise you my friends." He looks down at Aren and the brutish elves that brought him here, "Bring him up, I will grant him this audience he seeks so badly."

More screaming. More chanting. More insanity.

But I'm glad no harm came to Aren here, it'd be difficult to get to him from here, behind the crowd, but Anselm is in there, if anything happens, he'll act quickly. But now…now I have to find a way in myself.

***

Anselm's Pov

It's not everyday I get to guiltlessly spy on people. I've kept my reservations on Asher's abuse of my powers since the very first days we met; I won't be a tool to used against harmless people.

I'm a Squire, a Knight to be so I ought to be stuck to my principles.

However, there is the rather shameful guilty pleasure of sneaking past people whilst intangible and invisible. Not being able to be seen or capable of interact with people used to be a nightmare.

But, with the spell that keeps me solid, that lets me be a spirit and a man at the same time, I don't burden myself so much any longer. I strolled right past the five armed elves that trooped out of the hall all angry looking and took my time exploring the insides of the place.

It's large and spacious, there's an upper level with stairs leading up to it but there isn't much to tell about the place. 

The first thing that greets is the high wooden table with a map, some notes and wooden pieces of warriors splayed over it. I suppose this is their crude attempt at a war board.

There's a couch, it has holes in it and is very dusty, but that's been bypassed by the brown cloth laid over it. There's a smaller table, with plates all over it, some with food and others without, completely cleared of it.

There only thing that stands out in the wide space would be the weapon stands at the back, the fire place and make-shift war board.

Asher is right, these elves really do need help and their bad setup isn't the only reason. The make shift war board provides some insight to their activities; from the little I can see at a glance; they've been targeting shops near the ground zero and the first strata. Human shops. 

Their hits are marked on the map with a circle and an x over it while their next targets are marked with a circle. Most of their targets are food stores and alchemical start-ups at the very edge of ground zero.

I can't help but feel pity for them. This is the much they can do, the weak targeting the weak, how pitiful. But I can't blame them, with such crude equipment and no magic they'd be taken out by stores with proper security.

There's a piece of light brown paper lying over the map of Aste and a candle stuck close to it. Picking it up to read I find it's just an order for food but it feels strange under my fingers.

The light of the candle tells me why that is. There's a hidden note within it. It's hard to make out without near burning the paper but I get the gist of it.

Yes, these fools are planning another attack on the Mayor, except this time…not anywhere close to him, rather, on his lodge.

The lodge. With the Matron and Audwin and all those silent maids Asher keeps thinking about.

Perhaps it'll be a greater success for them to hit the lodge, Asher said Audwin is only so strong even with the gem helping him, if they have any skill and numbers, they could possibly bring Audwin down without much trouble.

But that won't happen, even if Asher intends to betray the Matron and the Mayor, it won't be this way, not the way he talks about his big plan, he won't let this happen.

The door swings open again, I gasp, surprised at the early company but swiftly turn intangible and invisible again.

I float off to the distance, out of their path as the five and two more elves bring in Aren, Asher's mouse. Looks like he didn't get hurt outside btu he looks like he's about to shit himself soon.

"What a…nice place you have here." He mutters nervously under the combined glare of the elves. He's thrown unto the dusty couch, kicking up a cloud as he lands.

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