Phantom In White
Dabrias mind raced as they made there way through the dark woods, when could she start helping mother, when could her hair look like mothers, would she get her own staff, wand or orb? But most importantly could she make earth golem friends like mother can?
After a short trip of daydreams and questions they emerge from the forest seeing the village on the horizon.
The village nestled amidst the rolling hills, a tapestry woven with quaint charm and rustic beauty.
Cobblestone pathways meandered through the heart of the town, flanked by cozy cottages adorned with colorful flower boxes that spilled over with blossoms of every hue. Wisps of smoke lazily curled from chimneys, carrying the comforting aroma of wood fires and home-cooked meals. The air hummed with the lively chatter of villagers, their laughter intermingling with the melodious chirping of birds that nested among the leaves. The closer they get the chatter from the village square grows closer, The village square bustles with activity, its market stalls showcasing a kaleidoscope of fresh produce, vibrant textiles, and handmade crafts. The scent of warm bread wafted from the bakery, drawing a crowd eager to savor the village's culinary delights. The centerpiece of the town was a picturesque fountain, its crystalline waters cascading down sculpted stone, inviting passersby to pause and admire its tranquility.
Mother guides Dabria to their stall by the fountain, deftly unpacking her herbs and goods. In a swift motion, she discreetly stashes her wrapped staff in a hidden nook beneath the stall beam, ensuring its safety.
Dabria, filled with excitement, rushes off towards the neighboring stall where an old and grizzled blacksmith tirelessly hammers at his anvil. A young boy stands by, assisting him with the forge tongs. "Sigurd! We're here!" Dabria's voice rings out with enthusiasm, met by Sigurds joyful cry, "Dabria!" The blacksmith's gruff voice cuts in, acknowledging their arrival and remarking on their slightly delayed presence. Unable to contain her excitement, Dabria whispers in a low tone greeting Dabria , "Mother says I can finally start my studies!" Intrigued, The old man leans in, about to inquire further, but the blacksmith is interrupted as Sigurd exclaims, "Really!? Tell me all about it right now!" Dabria raises a finger to her lips, gesturing. "Shhhhhhhhhhh! You know we can't talk here. Come over for dinner tonight!" she whispers.
"Making plans without me?" The old man snickered with a big smile as he quenched the blade he was hammering. "I'm sure Mama won't mind!" Dabria thinks out loud.
A distinct sound rang out. Dabria turned to witness a large cloaked man walking through the town square as his cloak swirled through the air. It whispered with a gentle whoosh, akin to the hushed rustling of autumn leaves stirred by a soft breeze. The fabric, as it gracefully gilded and undulated, created a symphony of subtle whispers that seemed to carry secrets. The sound was a delicate symphony of subtle movements, a dance of cloth and air that evoked a sense of mystery and elegance. "Dabria! Hey are you listening?" Sigurds voice rang into Dabrias head as pulling her attention only for a second, "Y-yes of course, Hey do you see that…" Dabria turned to the point but he was gone. Dabria scanned the whole market but the man was gone like a whisper. Dabria, second guessing if she simply imagined him slowly turned to talk with Sigurd, they chatted like they hadn't seen each other in weeks.
As Mother kept her eye on the children, A young woman with a large scar on her arm made her way up to Mothers stand. "Ashlyn!" Mother said with a smile. "How's your arm doing?", "Better thanks to you!" Ashlyn said, elated, holding out her arm to Mother.
Taking Ashlyn by the arm, Mother runs her fingers along the scar, "Quite the accident." Mother remarks, "Thanks to my treatments you can still use it well so why have you come today." Ashlyn remarks, "You've helped me so much but won't accept anything from me but I've come to pay you back regardless." Softly smiling mother answers, "No. I get by just fine. You know I only accept payment in the form of what my patients can give me, Your company has been more than enough." Ashlyn frowns as she listens to mother, Ashlyn says defeated "Well, me and my family are always here if you need anything." Ashlyn waves and starts to walk away before she stops a few steps away and calls out, "Oh and that old man is talking about you again I just figured you should know!" Mother waves back "Don't worry! He's all talk." Mother says reassuringly
As Ashlyn walks away a look or slight worry comes across Mothers face. She gathers her staff and saunters over to the Blacksmiths stall calling over Dabrias shoulder, "Cedric watch Dabria for me i'll be back in no time at all!" Cedric grunts in agreement. Mother leans down and whispers to Dabria "I'll be right back darling." Mother rubs Dabrias head as she walks towards the edge of town.
As Mother ventured forth from the bustling market square, she embarked on her solitary journey towards the edge of town, where the path led her to a less privileged district. The stark contrast between the vibrant marketplace and the humble surroundings became increasingly evident with each step she took.
The architectural scenery transformed before her eyes. Magnificent buildings with intricate designs gradually gave way to modest structures that showed signs of wear and neglect. Cracked facades, peeling paint, and sagging roofs became the norm, revealing the financial hardships endured by the residents. Mother's gaze swept across the humble dwellings, her expression a mixture of empathy and concern.
The streets themselves mirrored the economic divide.
The smooth pavement of the market square transitioned into uneven cobblestones, and in some areas, to dusty dirt paths. The lack of proper maintenance was apparent, as potholes and scattered debris challenged Mother's progress. The dim light from sporadic street lamps cast long shadows, emphasizing the contrast to the well-lit streets of the town center.
As she continued her walk, Mother's empathetic nature led her to observe the small shops that catered to the needs of the less fortunate. These establishments were modest, with weathered signs and unassuming displays. Their shelves held basic necessities—affordable food items, second-hand clothing, and essential household goods. The shopkeepers, wearing worn-out attire, greeted Mother with genuine smiles, embodying resilience amidst their own struggles.
The atmosphere grew quieter as Mother neared the edge of town. The vibrant chatter of the market square faded into the distance, replaced by faint echoes of laughter and conversation, muffled by the thick walls and closed windows of the houses. The air felt heavier here, carrying a blend of aromas from nearby kitchens and the scent of dampness—an unwavering reminder of the challenges faced by the residents of this neighborhood.
Eventually Mother stops at a large dilapidated house; the foundation's cracks reach for the sky from the weathered once great house, a shadow of its former self. Mother climbs the aged steps with a heavy heart. Mother knocks on the heavy wood in response it creaks open loosely agape. "Mordred. It's me" Mothers voice echoed through the house. Silence followed as the only sound in the large house was mothers footsteps.
The grand foyer, once a welcoming embrace, now stands in stark contrast to its former self. Dust covers the elegant marble floors, and the chandelier that once sparkled with crystal brilliance now hangs askew, its once radiant glow extinguished. Mother's footsteps reverberate, breaking the eerie silence that has settled within the walls.
Moving forward, Mother enters the parlor, her heart heavy with memories. Wading through the dark mother runs her hand on the heavy table cloth, kicking up dust she turns and faces herself in the large mirror. Locking eyes with herself her eyes emanate a slight red glow in the dark, Suddenly on the other end of the room the sound of a match striking rings through the parlor. In the mirror Mother watches an old scarred man that sits at the end of a long, worn table he sets a candle down next to a flower with soft white petals and silvery-white hairs shining in the flames light. Shadows dance across his weathered face, emphasizing the deep lines etched by a lifetime of hardships. His presence exudes a sense of weariness and bitterness, as if he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders.
The flickering candlelight casts eerie shadows on the man's features, accentuating the scars that crisscross his weathered skin. Each mark tells a story of battles fought, both physical and emotional. His eyes, once vibrant and full of life, now hold a hint of sorrow and resentment.
The man's unkempt gray hair falls disheveled around his face, partially obscuring his piercing gaze fixed upon Mother. "Mordred," a callous voice calls out, "Eleanor." Mother turns to face him, her expression blank. "You know why I'm here, Mordred," she says.
"Yes, to lie and deceive. What else are you good for, witch?" Mordred responds with hostility.
Mother takes a seat at the other end of the table. "We must resolve this. Your accusations put me and my daughter in danger," she says.
"Accusations? I know who you truly are. The others may have forgotten that you're an outsider or your true nature. While you may heal a few scrapes and burns, your presence here endangers everyone. And that little girl you've taken in, she'll only suffer under your care. It baffles me why anyone allowed you to take her," Mordred retorts. The old man slowly rises from his chair and points at Eleanor. "Leave this town before I decide to report you to the inquisition!"
Eleanor remains composed and calmly responds, "I apologize, Mordred, if I wasn't capable enough to save your son." Mordred cries out, "DO NOT SPEAK HIS NAME! You let him die intentionally! Without him, you're the sole healer in this town. Do you think I'm a fool?"
Eleanor maintains her composure and says, "Your son and I worked together for a long time. I have no need for money, and you know I rarely charge my patients. I understand your suspicion and anger, but despite your threats over the past two years, you haven't reported me. Although your motives remain your own, I implore you, for the sake of my daughter, to refrain from labeling me a witch. The wrong person may overhear and act upon it someday."
Mordred scoffs, "I told you what needs to happen, leave town by the end of next winter or I'll make the trek to the capital myself to turn you in." Eleanor stares in long contemplation for a long while at the dancing flame on the candle by Mordred before slowly placing her hand on her wrapped staff a soft look of disgust suddenly flashes on her face and she places her hand on the table and stands, "Thank you for your kindness, you have no reason to give me that much time. I only ask one thing of you." Mordred smiles and snickers, "Finally seeing reason? Fine then if you'll leave i'll give you one ask. What do you want?"
Eleanor gestures toward the flower before Mordred, her voice trembling slightly. "Edelweiss only grows at the peak of the neighboring mountain. The florist doesn't sell them, so I assume you took that one from your son's grave," she says softly. Confusion washes over Mordred's face as he responds in disbelief, "How did you come to know that?" Eleanor places her hand over her heart, her eyes welling with emotion. "I'm the one who has been leaving them there every week. They were Gabriel's favorite. If not for me, then please, do it for him. Bring them to him occasionally. I understand the journey to the mountain peak is long, but I'll arrange for someone to assist you." Before Mordred can utter a response, Eleanor collects herself and, with a heavy heart, swiftly departs from Mordred's home, wiping her eyes as she goes.
As Eleanor embarks on her journey back to the marketplace, she once again navigates through the seedy underbelly of the town. As she approaches the marketplace, a group of men berating a vagrant blocks her path. Swiftly, Eleanor slips into a lengthy alley, assaulted by the stench and confronted by heaps of trash scattered in the dimly lit passage. Urgently, she makes her way to the end of the alley, stealing a fleeting glance over her shoulder, where she barely catches sight of a cloaked figure, concealed within the shadows. The worn and ragged cloak merges effortlessly with the darkness, whispering tales of countless ventures and encounters. Beneath the cloak, pale skin bears the scars of exhaustion and sacrifice, a testament to past battles fought.
As the figure turns, their piercing gaze meets Eleanor's, unearthing a profound depth that holds a myriad of untold stories. In the dim illumination, their eyes flicker with a combination of weariness and unwavering resolve. One hand rests on a hidden weapon, its well-worn grip embodying the touch of innumerable perils faced, while the other hand remains gloved and steady as stone. In that fleeting moment, Eleanor's heart leaps within her chest, her feet pounding the dirt paths until they gradually transform into cobblestone, and the sounds of the bustling marketplace grow nearer. Casting a backward glance, she notices the figure standing at a distance, observing her. Her heart resonates in her head as she rounds the corner, gasping for breath. Peering cautiously around the bend, she discovers that the figure has vanished. Swiftly, she veers onto an alternate path, wasting no movement as she heads back to the fountain in the marketplace.
Eleanor with a weary heart approaches the Blacksmiths stall, Sigurd polishes blades on the rack and Dabria nestled away in the corner head buried in the tomb from home. Quickly glancing around Eleanor on edge notices a withered old woman wearing a shawl by her stall patiently waiting. Eleanor hurries over to her stall "I apologize for the wait mame how can I help you today?" The old woman gives a smile and softly says "Years of work have taken a toll on my joints and it's slowly become unbearable."
Eleanor's eyes soften with empathy as she quickly gathers various herbs and slides them into a small pouch then tying it off. As she hands the pouch to the woman Eleanor explains. "Brew these herbs into a tea and drink it twice a day, it should lessen the pain if you can also rest for up to an hour after drinking it." Grateful, the old woman hands Eleanor five bronze coins. Counting four coins Eleanor places them back into the old woman's hands and then holds up the one bronze coin. "This is more than enough.", Eleanor declares. The old woman nods and says "Thank you again saint Eleanor." She gestures goodbye and shuffles away disappearing into the crowd.
Eleanor once again scans the crowd weary but notices Dabria watching intently, after their eyes meet Dabria runs over and pulls on Eleanor's coat. "Mama can't you just use your magic to make the granny's pain go away." She whispers. Eleanor softly explains as she kneels down "Not every problem should be solved with magic, I know you want to help people Darling but you'll need to learn more than magic to do that." Dabria frowns "But! -'' Eleanor interrupts, "Magic should be used sparingly to heal others only on those we absolutely trust and only when there is no other option, Dabria. It takes but one set of loose lips too and our lives here could be over."
Dabria fidgets her fingers and nods understandingly her eyes lighten up as she remembers something, "Mama, can Sigurd and uncle come have dinner with us today?" Eleanor smiles, "Of course!"