Chapter Thirteen *NEW*

CONTENT ADVISORY / TRIGGER WARNING

THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS DEPICTIONS/STRONG IMPLICATIONS OF THE FOLLOWING THAT SOME READERS MAY FIND OFFENSIVE OR DISTURBING:

~ REFERENCE TO WAR, VIOLENCE AND ABUSE

Sitting within one of the few inns inside the secure walls of Edinburgh, Gaalin sipped on a pint of strong ale from a carved wooden mug while relaxing amongst the company of Edinburgh's 'finest' guards. Resting with his feet elevated on top of the sawn lumber table, the legs of his chair creaking slightly with each movement he rocked back and forth. Platters and bowls filled with fresh produce, cooked and salted meat, and day old bread were on the table, looking delicious and tempting to fill his growling stomach. Now, the platters and bowls were picked apart, littered with crumbs, half eaten vegetables and very little meat.

The group of guards erupted with laughter, cheering and slamming their mugs together over the center of the table. The ale splashed from the mugs and over the rims and onto the table, even splashing onto Gaalin's leather boots. His red pupils glanced towards the group of men surrounding him with a speck of irritation, yet the men remained oblivious to his annoyance. They'd graciously invited themselves to his table earlier in the evening, asking for tales about the infamous dragon slayer, tales of his lord. Although he'd initially refused, claiming to be too fatigued from the events of the last few days. For now, they'd refrained from harassing him further, yet he knew they'd start prodding him for information again.

His lord, his dragon slayer, his Libelle, had left for Uppsala several days prior to this evening. She'd successfully defeated the dragon terrorizing the outskirts of Edinburgh, and left him behind to deal with the aftermath. He knew she needed to seek council from the old priests atop the mountain, as she'd been seeking the gods and goddesses for advice regarding the ongoing war. He'd witnessed the communion between her and several of the Aesir, yet he was never able to actually join in the conversation.

Libelle had been seeking their guidance for years now, since the time she'd realized her gift of being a slayer, and he'd been with her even before then. The two had met when she was around the age of sixteen, shortly after she'd awakened her powers. The young girl grew up in poverty, abused by those older than her in the small village where she resided as a child. She was the daughter of the elven race who lived within the woodland realms, her parents were rumored to be among the most skilled of warriors in her land. Except, Libelle had been separated from her family, her people when she was just a child, merely a seven year old child.

Her separation did not come willingly, to her or her parents. The death of her parents, and the death of many of her kin came from an ambush by mankind on the woodland realms. Man and elf had been warring for a long time, war that began before the war between man and dragon. His and her kind, elves; were a being that could live longer than man, and their skills were much greater. Skills in craftmanship, weapon smithing, alchemy, enchanting, magic, swordsmanship and archery: they were better at everything when compared to man.

Except, no matter how well they were prepared, they succumbed to the overwhelming number of man who attacked their homes in the middle of a wintery night. He'd heard the stories from man as he traveled from town to town, eventually ending up in Edinburgh where he accepted a role as a sword for hire. For several months, men would boast about their 'battle' with the skilled beings. Man called it a battle, but he knew better. Several kingdoms had banned together and ambushed the villages, secluded deep in the forests beyond the mountains of Edinburgh.

The elven warriors were away from their homeland, aiding their cousins in other lands where they were being persecuted simply for being what they were. A race that was taller than man, with fairer and flawless skin, elegant and refined features, beauty that was unparalleled beauty. Those who remained behind were the elderly, young women and children. Those who remained were still learning the skill of combat, or they had reached the point of being too old to join in another battle.

On the night man arrived at their village, it was both bitter cold and limited visibility with a heavy snowstorm blocking the moon from the skies. Except the snow would not block out the screams of his lords kin, his cousins from the mainland. Libelle was among the few children who escaped, forced to flee from their burning homeland, barefoot, poorly dressed, and terrified. She ran, and ran, and ran... until she found herself in the world of man.

Roaming the streets of rundown villages, surviving on the scraps of food that she found discarded, dressing herself with tattered clothing either stolen from the lines they were hung to dry upon. She survived winters, barely, by seeking shelter among livestock. Yet the hardest part of growing up alone in a world that hated her kind, wasn't the constant struggle with the elements and finding her next meal. It was the constant abuse from the mortals who despised her race.

Gaalin was all to familiar with the abuse that would come from man, the harsh words and the harsher beatings. He experienced the cruelty of man the moment he set foot on the mainland, more so because it was harder to hide his race because of the color of his skin. 'Dark elf' or 'drow' he was called. Because his skin was a blackish-grey, and his hair white as fresh snow with eyes the color of rubies; he stood out.

Libelle was a beautiful child, with porcelain skin and soft yellow hair. If she hid the pointed tips of her ears well enough, sometimes she could hide her identity and be mistaken as poor child. Yet she experienced harsher beatings the moment she was discovered, so she stopped trying to hide her race. She'd avoid villages as much as she could, but she was still a victim of mans abuse.