In a dim tent, a singular lantern casts its light onto a singular occupant sitting behind a desk. In front of her are 4 quills who whizzing upright by the lonesome, moving through the air, gliding through separate papers. Each moving with purpose, each writing separate reports, past reports of past battles. They dip into the inkwells, and danced across the desk with practiced precision, leaving fabricated accounts of past battles.
One quill stopped, as if awaiting command, before Elastra picked up a piece of paper from a stack of reports on her desk.
Too many saw the elven child taken from the battlefield. That could not be undone. But it could be explained.
The quill moves, creating words from her speech.
"There was a child spotted in a cage carried by the cultists, suspected to be kidnapped from the local orphanages. Perhaps to be used in ritual with heretical magic"
Meanwhile, another quill scratched against parchment, forming a letter. This one was for an old friend in a high place.
"A favor, my friend. Craft a tale for me in your town's records. That of an orphanage child that has gone missing. Tamper the records such she has always existed. She is a victim of war, and I would like to bring her to Arcanum"
Elastra let out a slow breath, watching the ink dry.
A deep sigh left her breath. She shifts through the stack of forged paperwork created that day, ensuring the details match, ensuring the numbers align, that there is no relation of the child utilizing heretical magic.
She stopped for a while, taking a moment to sip on the last remaining sip of the last bottle of wine left for the campaign. The ancient elf takes a moment to reflect on the stack of paperwork, being reminded of her day's past of smuggling mages across Europa. The mage hunt, a hunt by the Keepers of the Grand Order, the devotees of Mundus. The mage hunt that was only stopped with the signing of the Golden Concordat, a peace agreement between the Keepers of the Grand Orders with the Conclave of Magi, devotees of Merlin.
The Golden Concordat, signed in the city of Medici, was an agreement to band together against the threat of the Orcish Invasion. With Roma already falling to the Orcs, it was a matter of time before they arrive at our front gates. The late King Osmund was a harsh man yet, he still provided Elastra shelter. A deed she repaid by healing his child from the curse of a spirit. A deed he repaid through the Golden Concordat.
Even now, the event left its mark still. Once, in the glory days of Roma, one could not take a step without encountering a mage. But that was before the hunt. Before Mundus. Outside of the established families in Italia, one could scarcely find any mages nowadays. There was a real chance of a curse spreading through the bloodlines.
As she carried onto her work, having accustomed to the routine up to the point that her bodies were moving by themselves, Hansen walks past the tent's entrance, lowering the cover in the process.
As the aged captain walks towards Elastra, the lantern at the peak of the tent casts a shadow upon her. She stares up at the grumbling captain with a soured face, his footsteps heavier, more shuffling than usual. The ancient elf sighs, sensing an argument. The quills floating atop the table suddenly floated up and fell into a neat collection by the side of the table.
"Elastra," Hansen begins, "What in the abyss are you thinking? What makes you believe that Eve would be save in Medici? Right under the noses of the Purging hands?"
The elf sighs, rubbing his sore, throbbing head. Having endured an entire day's work organizing the mages work in the camp now, another headache is coming... How do they deal with this child?
"Where would you have her be then?" question Elastra.
"Anywhere but under the thumb of the Purging Hands!" says Hansen, in a voice louder than a whisper and quieter than a shout, "You know how relentless they can be with the Ashen Purge! What makes you think you can handle them with Eve? It'll better not because she's an elf-"
"That has nothing to do with this. It's better to have Eve where the Conclave of Magi can have somewhat of a control over narrative," explains the elf calmly, in contrast to the reddened follower of Mundus, "I'd rather have that than have her locked up in random county, perhaps tortured to death in solitude, and obscurity"
This explanation seems to have a calming effect on Hansen, who hunches down on Elastra. His big body casts a dark shadow over the hunching elf.
"What then? Keep Eve hidden forever? Have her in a box for the rest of her life-"
Sensing a tangent, Elastra merely stands up and opens her palms up to hold the speech. "Hansen Valcoran," the elf elaborates, "The house of Valcoran used to be a noble family. Now, it no longer is. Yet, it still is a family steeped with crusaders culture, enough to have a strong guardian spirit of its own. Do you know why?"
Staggered by the sudden question, Hansen answers, "Because... He smuggles some mages on their way to the bonfire out of the city but, what does this have to do with anything?"
Elastra continues, "This has everything to do with our situation. Your ancestor sees the flames of the Grand Order as what it is - tyrannical, absolute power, not of justice. Yet, here you are. Clad in the colors that had him hung. Still a fate better than those mages, though."
"His death was the only reason House Valcoran retains its name," Hansen defends, still attempting to hold onto his belief of the Grand Order, "If not for his sacrifice, our name would've been lost to history"
"Just like those mages"
"Enough, Elastra," Hansen seethes, "Mentioning my ancestors will only serve to further enrage me."
"Doesn't matter that you're angry. What matters is that people saw her," explains Elastra, "People saw her with Nocturnis. There's no doubt they'll remember her and there's no doubt she'll be reported in time. The Purging Hands will notice her sooner or later"
Hansen takes a deep sigh and sits down on a stool next to the table, "Damn it! You're right. Then, what's our move? We'll just erase any records of the clash with the cultists?"
"No. That'll be even more suspicious. With the number of people there, a lot of them will remember us taking Eve from there," Elastra elaborates, "Instead, we'll just pin the blame on the cultists. Say that the incident with Nocturnis was a part of a heretical magic that we couldn't detect. With that, we shall take her to the Conclave - for supervision"
The captain stares into a while, before nodding off to her plans.
"So, you agree?"
"No. I just know I'm beaten. Just like you said. They'll know of Eve eventually. Rather we'll have her with the Conclave much as I hate to admit it," Hansen states but a question still lingers in his mind, "What about the school though?"
"When Eve has been established by the Conclave to be shielded by Merlin, they will also discover her innate spiritual potential" Elastra clarifies, "Without a good reason, the Purging Hands wouldn't go directly against the Conclave"
"Shielded? You're referring to the pledge with Merlin, right?" asks Hansen to which the elf merely nods to.
"That's right. Whatever she was before, she definitely belongs to Merlin now." states Elastra.
Hansen nods quietly at Elastra, marking his agreement in the game against the Purging Hands. He leaves the tent, leaving the swaying tent covers, and an elf, dropping onto her chair while slouching, letting off a deep sigh.
Eve stifles a yawn as light peeks through the gaps between the woods of the cargo cart. She pulls up her cloak, ensuring it is still held upright, and peeks at the small gate of the cart, ensuring no one can see her. Having woken up by the increasingly bumpy road, she struggles to put herself upright, the cart jumping up and down, side to side from time to time.
Despite this, she holds her breath and ensures no sound escape her lips. The rhythmic swaying, and creaking of the cart, the slight shuffling of the cargo inside, and the murmuring from the bored cargo workers limits the exposure of noise from Eve.
'Keep your cloak up, don't anyone see you, and don't say anything. Scratch that. Just don't make any noise in particular,' Eve struggles to hold in her chuckle at the odd and amusing way the fiery blond man speaks.
Gradually the road become smoother further into the center of the city. She sees the outline of the grand gate outside the cargo gate.
Celebrations echoes into the cargo car, "Welcome back, slayers of orcs!"
"Well-done on staying alive, heroes of the Kingdom!"
A cacophony of celebrations sounds into the air - erupting into a jubilee of triumph and relief. Most feel pride swells in their eyes, waving and screaming towards their loved one in the convoy. While others, scan the returning soldiers with dread, their absence possibly confirms their worst fears.
"By the spirits! That's my husband! HEEEY JENSEEENNN!!"
"Where's my boy... My dear boy...."
Being the last cart in the convoy, the space behind the cart was safe to clear and that space was taken effectively by a small child wishing to peek into the cart that Eve is hiding in. Unfortunately, the two pair of eyes meet each other. Green hair meets blonde and green eyes meet silver. Before she could point the hidden elf out, the cart had long past her. Her parents pull her back into the crowd, believing her words to be a creation of imagination.
'Someone spotted me!' cries Eve in her own head, quickly going to hide in between boxes of the cargo cart. She stays for a few moments, peeking slightly to see if there was anyone coming her way. Her chest beats heavily for a few minutes but as the gate of the city grow smaller and smaller from the distance, she puts her back against one of the crates, feeling the pull of sleep once again...
When she woken up, the cart was coming to a stop, the crate she was leaning on pushes slightly against. She strains her ears to hear what was happening outside, too scared to peek at the gate in case someone was there. Some slight movements were heard, and she hears a slight commotion from outside.