Blackguard Rising

A thin cloud of warm mist emerged from the lips of the traveler, an adventurer, a warrior who stood alone surrounded by trees with a leaf strewn dirt path ahead. A full set of chainmail armor protected the traveler from torso to legs whose head was covered by an armet helmet while steel plated gauntlets and boots covered both the hands and feet. The traveler’s gauntleted right hand tightly grasped the hilt of a sheathed longsword; blue eyes scanned the surrounding terrain where the grass and leaves had taken the red, yellow and brown colors of autumn.

The early afternoon sun provided some warmth to the land but the air still remained cool for winter itself was soon to come, yet an even deeper unnatural chill could be felt. A shiver ran down the spine of the adventurer who instinctively knew that there was sorcery at work here, magic that was most foul.  Dark rumors had been spoken among the nearby villages of unnatural sightings in these woods, of ancient burials sites disturbed and the living dead rising from the grave.

Known to the locals as the Iron Forest, these woods had long been a place of death for countless wars had been waged beneath its canopies. Iron was the reason why many armies, regardless of whether they belonged to the races of Men, Orc, Goblin or the assorted kindred of Beastfolk so frequently clashed and why it was known as a cursed place for the bones of countless dead beings moldered beneath the very soil. It was at one of the many mining towns near these woods had the traveler heard the tales of the undead and of great treasure within an old monastery where a long dead order of knights once protect these lands.

It was said that this knightly order had been quite wealthy back in their day, where many local kings had paid them large sums of gold to ensure that these lands and its precious iron mines remained free of monsters. There were even tales of other riches claimed by these knights who had once frequently clashed with monsters such as dragons and had claimed whatever treasures the wyrms had hoarded. In the end as the tales went, the knights had eventually been wiped out after a great horde of Orcs descended upon these lands but not before as the bards tell it, fighting a heroic last stand that killed many of the barbaric brutes.

Taking a deep breath of the cold air once more, the traveler took one step forward and then another with sound of steel scraping against leather for the blade was drawn from its scabbard. The eyes of the adventurer cautiously looked about while carefully trying to pick out any noises in the surrounding area for all one could hear was wind blowing against the leaves, as if even the very beasts knew to forsake this place.

Cold sweat began to bead upon the warrior’s flesh, unseen beneath the protective mail as long agonizing minutes passed and still, there was nothing. The adventurer had an idea of course where the exact location of the monastery was for its existence had been no secret to the local woodsmen yet none dared to enter the haunted place for stories had also been told of well armed treasure hunters venturing forth to seek out its riches, only to never be seen again. Eventually, after about half an hour of cautious steps, the adventurer heard something, the distant clattering of metal plates and the faint stench of rotting flesh.

Visibility was now low for a thick cold grey fog surrounded the forest and the traveler was forced to rely more upon the other senses. Soon, a distant figure was seen in the mists, the stench of death had grown even greater now and the traveler saw a hunched thing shambling ahead in a swaying motion like a drunkard. Gauntleted hands further tightened around the hilt of the longsword which was raised in a readied stance.

As if on cue, the dead thing then turned about and the adventurer saw the rotted remains of a dead man clad in rusted plate while missing the left arm and clutching a broken sword in the bony right hand. The creature looked as if it had been dead for months at best, a man who had died and been forgotten, left to rot in these wilds where only scraps of desiccated flesh still clung to dirt covered bone. Most disturbingly, the adventurer saw that the eye sockets of undead creature’s skull was filled with bright glowing amethyst colored orbs which bore all the features one would expect to see in the eyes of a living person.

Rushing forward in a sudden sprint, the adventurer’s sword was raised over the left shoulder and the blade came crashing down in an overhead chop aimed at the walking corpse’s head. In response, the undead raised its broken sword, not to parry but to swing the weapon but the edge of the traveler’s blade bit into its rotted, bony neck and in an instant, its head was sent flying. In that moment as the severed head was sent flying, the amethyst orbs of its eyes dissipated into empty darkness before the skull landed upon the grassy soil and the rest of the body collapsed in a clatter of bones and rusted armor.

A small measure of satisfaction filled the adventurer who now felt a bit more confident as if the unnatural dread that permeated this place had broken its spell. The traveler was no wet behind the years whelp, no uninitiated rookie on their first encounter with a monster for the life of a wandering adventurer was one that had been walked for six years now. Stopping for moment to catch their breath, the adventurer then tried to pick out if there were anymore of the undead in the mists but found only silence once again.

Taking a moment to make certain that the area was clear, the traveler then began to cautiously proceed again towards the monastery. Again there had been no incidents that occurred along the way but the unnatural chill, the presence of sorcery that filled the air like a charge before a storm grew even stronger. Soon in the distance, flitting among the trees, the traveler saw eerie pale blues lights dancing about in the mists which caused that feeling of unnatural dread to intensify. The traveler knew what these were, magic spirits of winter that often lured the unwary to their death in the cold, yet their appearance at this time of the year was most unusual to say the least winter for there had yet to be any snowfall.

Keeping to the path and cautiously avoiding the spirits, the traveler had heard the stories of how these entities were immune to many forms of attacks, either magical or physical so it would have been best to maintain one’s distance. As the adventurer traveled further towards the monastery the number of spirits seemed to increase as if congregating around the path. Eventually the fog began to thin out somewhat and visibility improved where soon in the distance an old stone structure could be seen in the distance.

Taking a deep breath, the traveler stepped forward with nerves steeled by the thought of the great wealth that was said to lie within this ancient place. As soon as another step was taken, the adventurer then heard the clattering of armor again and from the mists came several skeletal figures brandishing rusted weapons. Muttering a curse, the traveler made a quick count to see how many there were and instinctively knew that staying here, out in the open would be suicidal.

Looking back at the mist covered path behind, the traveler saw more of the winter spirits now floating about above the road, thus making an escape dangerous. Something was not right here thought the adventurer who had faced undead in this past. This was not the common behavior of the mindless types of undead which often haunted the abandoned places of the world which suggested that there was a greater power at work here.

The undead then began to close in around the traveler who immediately began to run towards the monastery. Even while running, the adventurer was able to get a better look at the monastery, its stone masonry had become grimy with age and withered vines clung to its outer surface while a waist high fence of ruined stones surrounded its perimeter. Soon the traveler came in sight of the front doors leading to the main church which suddenly flung open and from the entrance emerged even more undead monstrosities.

Hissing a curse and readying for a fight, the adventurer’s sword was raised once more and as soon as the nearest of the undead were in range, swung the blade in a cleaving sweep that decapitated three skeletal warriors. Another skeleton thrust a spear towards the traveler’s chest but the seasoned adventurer swung their body to the side, just in time avoid catching the rusted tip of the weapon before swinging a gauntleted left hand into its bony face where with bone crunching force had sent its jaw flying along with fragments of bone and dust. A frenzied melee then ensued where the adventurer’s sword, fists and boots were swung about at any undead that came within range for there was no need for subtlety in a fight like this, just raw aggression and the desperation of a cornered animal.

Adrenaline pumped through the veins of the adventurer who split the head of a zombified goblin in half with an overhead chop before thrusting it into the neck of another zombie, one of a dead woman in a ragged dress who head soon toppled to the ground. Pain would soon follow as the rotted fist of a zombie slammed into the right shoulder of the adventurer and wooden club smashed into the warrior’s left hip. Rusted blades slashed against the chainmail armor of the traveler, sending sparks flying as the impact was somewhat softened by the gambeson beneath.

Even in this state where pure instinct had taken over, the adventurer knew that the chances of survival were now slim at best for the undead clamored around the warrior in a relentless, silent tide. Soon the limbs of the adventurer would begin to feel heavy as exhaustion began to set in and every strike, every step started to slow as the lungs demanded for a rest. Another explosion of pain came as burly undead zombie, the remains of a bald bearded man wielding a blacksmith’s hammer smashed into the warrior’s right wrist which shattered bone beneath the flesh.

The warrior’s longsword dropped to the ground and in that moment another strike from a weapon crashed into the traveler’s helmeted head which sent the warrior into the darkness of oblivion.

Soft steps echoes across the stone halls of the monastery as silence once more descended upon the ancient stronghold and a tall figure clad in black robes whose head was covered by a dark hood with a cloth over the mouth and neck who watched as the intruder was beaten down by the horde of the undead. With but a thought, the master of these undead, a sorcerer, a necromancer halted the minions from striking a final killing blow. As annoyed as the magician was at the destruction of so many of so many of his minions, he could not help but be intrigued by this meddler who had by his count, destroyed thirteen skeletons and nine zombies, a fairly impressive feat for a single individual.

Approaching the downed warrior with a confident stride, the necromancer willed for two of his skeletal minions to pick up the unconscious stranger by the broken arms as a third clasped its bony hands around the helmet and took off the piece of armor. To the surprise of the Necromancer, he beheld the countenance of a woman with red hair cut short in a boyish style. The Necromancer took a moment to study every detail he could about the stranger where he willed his one of his skeletal minions to turn aside the woman’s head where intently studied her features where by guess, her age  was perhaps about middle to latter of twenty years, possibly even around early thirty years where an old scar ran across her face from the right side of the forehead to left cheek in an almost perfect slash while there were others such as another across the right cheek and a burn mark on the left side of the neck below the ear.

With but another thought, the Necromancer’s skeletal minions then laid the woman on the dusty stone floor at the entrance of the cathedral where their bony claws began to strip her body of every piece of armor, clothing and all items. In less than a minute, the woman’s bare naked body was laid bare before him and he had to admit that he was certainly intrigued as he beheld a lean, strong, athletic form of one who had for whatever reasons given up a life of softness, of safety to live what was no doubt a dangerous occupation.

Tilting his hooded head with interest where only pale skin and deep emerald green eyes peered through the darkness, he made sure to study as much as he could for in his years studying many bodies, he had found that there was much one could learn by a careful inspection. The fairness of the woman’s firm, scarred flesh suggested that she was perhaps a highborn noble, one that was further reinforced as he inspected her hands and found it to be callused in a way common to a warrior but not one from an individual used to hard labor on a day to day basis. Her breasts which were of a modest size and had been covered by a chest wrap were shaped in a way that suggested that she had never borne a child.

He had thought about checking between her legs as well to see if her virginity was intact but decided that such a thing would best be inspected later in his study. After he was done with his survey, the Necromancer was confident that this warrior woman who clearly was not only a skilled fighter but one of prime healthy stock, possibly an aristocrat which would make her even more valuable and he had to admit that despite her somewhat hoydenish appearance, she was comely enough to him. Of course with the injuries she now bore, her chances of death by infection or blood loss both internally or externally were very high with wounds that would leave her permanently crippled if left to mend on its own, even with the assistance of a skilled healer without access to magical means, not that such a thing was of a concern at the moment.

With his slender, pale skinned left hand, the Necromancer reached for a ruby tipped magic wand which he kept on the right side of his belt and he drew the arcane instrument forth and pointed it towards the warrior woman. Speaking an arcane word of power, he unleashed the magic within the wand which sent out a wave of crimson energy which caused her body to immediately begin convalescing before his eyes. There was no need to re-set broken bones, no need to dress or suture bleeding wounds that immediately closed and such was the power of the wand’s healing power that even the scars on her face along with others on her body completely faded as if they had never existed in the first place.

The woman’s breathing stabilized as she still remained unconscious and the Necromancer knew that she would now be more dangerous for upon awakening, she should be at complete full strength. Mentally willing his minions to carry the woman into the monastery’s interior he was determined to show at least some modicum of hospitality, even towards an uninvited guest. His eyes lingered upon the altar at the end of the hall where beneath the grimy surface of a stained glass window depicting an angelic figure holding a flaming sword and smiting a red skinned, horned demonic figure and he beheld the broken, desecrated remains of what had once been this place’s heart of worship.

Silence, with the exception of skeletal feet or moldy boots echoed across the stone floor as his minions began to pick up the remains of their fallen “comrades”. If there was one good thing about working with the dead, thought the Necromancer was that it was quite easy to simply reanimate the dead even after they had been cut down.

When consciousness returned to the traveler, it came with a sudden gasp as hazel eyes opened widely with a look of sudden surprise on her face. Bolting up from a lying down position, the woman suddenly felt pain upon her wrists and ankles along with a metallic coldness and she realized that she was bound with the sound of. Cold air kissed her bare, naked flesh while cold stone lay behind her and the adventurer heard a jingling of metal to realize that she was restrained by short lengths of chains that bound her to what was likely a stone table.

Darkness surrounded her, she tried to move her head about, to get a better view of where she was but only blackness greeted. Her heart began to pound in rising terror at the possibilities of what was going on for she remembered the battle with the undead and how the monstrosities had overwhelmed her. She had been suspicious earlier but now it had been verified that there was indeed something behind these walking corpses, most likely a necromancer at work.

It was then that she heard a noise, footsteps upon stone and she tried to track its source when suddenly flashes of white bluish light filled her eyes and she was momentarily blinded. Blinking away in confusion, her sight and senses soon returned and the adventurer found herself in a moderately sized stone basement that looked like it had once been a wine cellar, now turned into an arcane laboratory where she saw a wooden table on one side with books and papers stacked upon it and near it was another wooden table filled with the bizarre equipment of an alchemist. Shining orbs the size of a melon rested upon brass poles that ended with brazier-like cages stood around the basement which illuminated the interior. Her eyes soon spotted what was quite clearly a doorway leading and as if on cue it opened.

Emerging from the doorway was a black robed figure whose head was concealed by a cloth hood and a mask that covered most of the face. Certain that this was the Necromancer, the one who had commanded the undead, her mind raced with possibilities of what the sorcerer would do to her, especially considering that she was still alive and none of them were pleasant. The Necromancer slowly approached her and she noticed that he was carrying something, a tray but she could not quite make out what it carried.

Struggling once more in the vain hopes that she might try to break her bonds, the adventurer kept her gaze upon the sorcerer who eyes she could see were of a deep emerald color and there was something about it that seemed almost strange, alien even. The Necromancer was soon upon her with a wooden tray in hand which he set aside by her and she lifted her head to see upon it was a clay pitcher and cup, a brass circular ring and a wooden plate with a what looked to be biscuits upon it. Looking at the almond shaped eyes of the magician, she saw that they lingered upon her body in a way that made her feel very uncomfortable before finally his gaze locked upon her own.

Pale slender hands reached up to pull down the cloth around the head of the magician and much to the warrior woman’s surprise, she beheld the visage of a creature of inhuman beauty. Bearing milky, almost albino skin with long black hair, angular features and tapered ears, she realized that he was not even human but one of the fabled Elves. But how was that possible? Was her thought for the fey creatures were said to live far, far away across the ocean where as the stories went, dominated and rule over a distant rich land that was said to be inhabited by numerous races of red-skinned Men.

The Necromancer’s features seemed androgynous to a degree but she was certain that before her was a male creature that seemed a bit too interested in her own feminine features. She could not deny that even in this state she found the Elf to be quite handsome but there was something about him and the way he looked at her that set her on edge as if she shared the room with a predatory beast with her as the prey.

“Please do not struggle” then spoke the Necromancer in a smooth, velvety yet sibilant voice that oddly felt reassuring. “The magic which I had used to heal your wounds is quite limited and I would rather not have to use it again.”

“Who are you?” then asked the warrior woman who had indeed stopped and she kept her gaze on the elf’s eyes while her brain tried to measure countless impossible escape plans. “What are you going to do to me?”

“A bit rude that you might ask that” calmly then replied the elf. “Especially considering that you are the one who had come uninvited.”

A moment of silence passed between them and the woman was the first to speak as fear began to build up within her for she knew that being defiant would do her no good for she was at the magician’s mercy.

“I am Elia of Gwen” the warrior woman reluctantly said while trying to keep the desperation out of her voice.

“My full name would be too long and impossible for your tongue to speak, Human” then said the Elf.

“But you can call me Kellanion of the Drucharian, servant of his dread majesty, The Witch King.”

Elia’s eyes widened in surprise at what she had been told for there had been stories spreading of a dark army in the far north within the frozen Northern Realms where supposedly a mighty sorcerer, this Witch King was waging a bloody campaign against the invading Ashalari Empire. She had heard the name of the Drucharian but none of the tales spoke of them being Elves, only that it was an army composed of dark wizards leading many monsters such as Demons, Undead, Orcs, Goblins, Trolls and Ogres.

The Elf then turned his attention to the brass object on the tray and he picked it up with both hands before turning his gaze back to her and she felt a sense of apprehension at seeing it. Elia realized it was a Torc, one adorned with a serpentine design with green emerald gems studded into the eyes of the snakes.

“Now hold still and raise your head, Human” the Elf then commanded and the warrior woman nervously obeyed as she lifted her neck and soon she felt the cold touch of metal around the neck and after a moment she could suddenly feel it begin to move as if it were alive. The brass Torc began to move around her neck and it formed into a loose and surprisingly light collar where she briefly saw green lights emanating from the eyes of the snakes.

“What is this?” Elia asked with no small amount of concern in her voice.

“It is for my own safety and yours” calmly replied the Elf who then reached for the manacle that bound her left hand and immediately she heard a click which freed her wrist. The idea of immediately trying to punch the sorcerer was considered but she relented because the logical part of her mind knew that if she tried, it would be the last mistake she would ever make.

“Whatever you do” then added the Elf who began to speak in a grim tone that was clearly a warning, “do not attempt to remove your collar, not without the assistance of myself or one of my kin; otherwise the results will be most… unpleasant.”

Soon the Elf then released her right arm and then went about freeing her legs as well and as soon as she was freed, she began to rub her wrists and inspect her own body of any remaining injuries from the battle with the undead. It was then that Elia realized that a number of the scars she had on her body from previous battles had been healed. Looking to the Elf, she saw him pour water from the pitcher to the cup and he offered it to her.

Cautiously accepting the cup, the warrior woman first took a sip while trying to ignore a thirst in her throat which she had ignored and found the liquid to be clean and cool with a mineral taste to it. Drinking down the contents of the cup, politely then Elf then poured another one before standing up and setting down the pitcher on the tray.

“Take your time and refresh yourself” the sorcerer then spoke, his voice suddenly taking a more kindly tone. “I will be conducting a thorough examination of you afterwards.”

“What do you mean by that?” Elia then asked with concern in her voice once more.

“I simply wish to determine how you would best serve me and my lord” the Elf then said as he turned his back to her and began heading to the table filled with Alchemical equipment.

Again, Elia thought about trying to smash the tray over her captor’s head and making an escape but as if on sensing her thought, she saw a sudden flash of light from the serpentine jewelry around her neck and for a moment she could have sworn she heard a hissing noising, as if warning her not to do it. As an experienced adventurer, Elia knew of the existence of magic rings, amulets and other pieces of jewelry which could grant boons like increased strength, agility or vitality. She also knew the stories of poor fools who had found cursed artifacts such a sword that would devour the soul of its owner if it did not kill or a ring that drove its owners to obsessive madness while granting unnatural longevity.

The adventurer was certain that this Torc held a terrible magic to it as well and she believed the sorcerer’s words that it was very much capable of doing something horrible to her if she tried to remove it and was certain it would do the same if she defied him in some way. It then dawned on Elia that she was not only a prisoner but a slave now to this sorcerer which caused a rage to build up inside of her but she knew that she would have to bide her time and figure out a way to escape this bondage.

Looking to platter of biscuits near her, Elia then picked up a piece and looked at it with caution. It looked like hardtack which was often quite unpleasant to eat, especially on the teeth and she tested its firmness with her bare hands and found that it cracked and crumbled right away. Taking a cautious bite, she found that it had a pleasant salty taste to it while having an enjoyable crunch to it.

By the time she was doing eating and having finished the last of the water, she saw the Elf walking back to her with a different tray full of metallic tools that suddenly gave her alarm for she saw that they were the same sort used by barber-surgeons.

“Now lay down once more” commanded the Elf and Elia hesitated before obeying. Soon she felt the cold stone upon her back again and the adventurer warily eyed the magician who bent over and brought his face close to hers but his gaze was directed upon her mouth.

What followed was quite simply a physician’s examination of things she did not expect. First he asked her age, then checked her teeth, followed by testing her eyesight, hearing, smell, reflexes of arms, legs and physical strength all the while asking many questions such as regarding past injuries which she noted that many were gone now and he even showed her a mirror where the warrior woman was surprised to see her own face without the scars of past battles. Once he was done, the Elf then set aside his tools on a tray and carried it with one hand along with the other tray that had been used for the food and water back towards the tables where he had worked and then he set by her again.

“Now I shall ask you some very personal questions” then spoke the sorcerer and Elia quietly nodded in agreement. “Have you lain with any Men in the past? Have you birthed any children?”

“What? No!” blurted Elia in disbelief as her face flushed with embarrassment and annoyance.

“Do you mean no have never lain with a Man? Or no you never have experienced pregnancy?” asked the Elf.

“Why is this important!?” defensively demanded Elia and the sorcerer then tapped upon the side of his neck and pointed with his angular chin towards her.

“Because you are a slave now” bluntly answered the Elf. “You should know that your ability to rear children is of intrinsic value.”

A stunned silence followed and Elia now even more strongly considered attacking the Elf before her and again, she felt the Torc around her neck seemed to sense her intent by slightly constricting, but not enough to begin choking her.

“I have been intimate in the past, but no Man’s seed has ever taken root” finally then said Elia with great reluctance and perhaps a bit of regret in her voice.

“I understand” nodded the Elf whose gaze then fell upon her body once more. “Had you been perfectly quite fertile, you would be valued as a breeding thrall. But if you truly are barren, even from before then you would have other uses.”

“Such as?” warily then asked Elia. And the Elf leaned forward, his face was right in front of hers and before she knew it, his lips pressed against her own and she felt his tongue meet her own, her eyes then widened with surprise. His hands held a surprising strength to it as both were wrapped around her neck and Elia instinctively wanted to pull back or strike at him but she suddenly felt movement from the Torc which again tightened again and as then loosened when mustered the self control to relent.

The necromancer then gently moved his head back, his face was still quite intimately close to her own and his eyes directly gazed into her own. She realized that this elf was far taller than her, taller most men and at this close distance she could smell him which to her surprise, was not the stench of a rotting corpse but rather she smelled a faint herbal perfume about him.

“I have been assigned by my Lord to some lonely corner of this world for months now” explained the Elf in a whisper whose left hand then slowly skimmed across the flesh of her neck before resting upon her left breast, his index finger and thumb toying with the hardened nipple. At the same time, his right hand gently went between her legs and without even looking, slipped his slender fingers into the soft, moist internal flesh of her womanhood which sent waves of pleasure through her. “I have only had the company of walking corpses and the occasional treasure hunter such as you, seeking the wealth of this monastery.”

“All have been males so far and thus my interest in them was purely that of a recruiter for my lord” then said the magician as Elia let out an exhale of ecstasy who could feel that she was genuinely getting aroused and becoming quite wet between her legs. “But you are the first living female to have arrived so please, do not resist and I promise that this will be mutually enjoyable.”

Realizing that she would not have much choice in the matter, not with the enchanted Torc around her neck, the warrior woman wanted to look him in the eye, to give him a defiant angry glare but instead she felt his kiss once more as he sat behind her while she was cradled in his warm where should could not deny that her arousal was becoming ever greater. Her body then became the plaything of this inhuman creature whose hands continued to pleasure her between her legs or to gently fondle her breasts with her nipples becoming a particular favorite while his lips either were upon her own or elsewhere on her flesh around the head or neck. She had expected him to at some point to pull up his robes and expose his manhood but the sorcerer did not and seemed to be content to continue being the one to give her pleasure where soon her very senses were completely overwhelmed as her mind began to be filled with thoughts of genuinely wanting to be penetrated by him.

His touch was surprisingly gentle yet there was a strength to it which strangely made her feel safe and even cared for. Audible moans escaped her lips while he was busy kissing the sides of her neck as his movement became more vigorous as if sensing that she coming very close to climaxing until finally she could bear it no longer. With an audible yelp escaping from her throat, Elia let off a gush of liquid from between her legs, spraying her own juices across the smooth surface of the stone table.   

Sagging down in his embrace, Elia tried to look away in embarrassment to which the sorcerer merely gave one last kiss on the left cheek along with a hug, like a child holding a favorite pet closesly. The magician gently soon got up and walked back towards his equipment, leaving her to her own thoughts as her mind contemplated how this had happened and what she should do about it. On one hand she would have to put her own life in the hands of this necromancer, a practitioner of darkest magic but on the other hand, she now had confirmation that the treasure she sought after was still here and this sorcerer knew about it.

As much as it rankled at her sense of pride at the idea that she was now a slave, a part of her that saw an opportunity in her current situation. It was said that the Witch King’s armies had plundered great wealth in the north from the Ashalari who in turn had for years been ravaging the local kingdoms there. The sorcerer had spoken of other treasure hunters that had come and that he had recruited them which meant that these Drucharian were open to the hiring of mercenaries.

She was aware that there were arcane means used by magicians to quickly travel from one place to another and she could surmise that this necromancer certainly possessed this method. It was then that Elia decided that for now she would play the part of a captive for she was knew that if the sorcerer truly meant her any harm, he would have done so already. Already her mind began to calculate, weighing the risks and rewards where ultimately the thought of great profits made her decide to stay for now.