I am Prince Wolfram Achilles Volkmar, crown prince of the Dark Elves, and the heir to The Outlands. But, to most on the continent of A’Aethyrr, I am merely another of the Tainted. It is a fair enough assumption, I suppose. We are not like other nations. Our people, while once thriving members of other cultures and societies, are Tainted by death and destruction now. Our magic is blackened, a form of pure, withering destruction.  I do not blame any who choose to approach us with hesitancy, nor do I hold grudges to those who seek outright conflict. Even still, our country is at risk of burning out. I do not come here seeking destruction like so many assume, but rather seeking help to feed my people. I wish others could understand that.

My contact's name is Avium, and he is, perhaps, the most insufferable and spiteful elf that I have ever met. He avoids eye contact for the most part, but when he does happen to look in my direction, the glare he wears could shatter mountains. From what little I am able to pull forth from his lips, I have learned that he is a mere twenty-five years old, just approaching his coming of age ceremony, though he has been a full fledged mage for... Some time. He will not disclose anything about his magic nor how long he's been in tune with it. I've given up pushing. Avium is the type I would have found intimidating perhaps a century ago, when I was equally youthful; but now that I am grown and more critical of the world around me, he is simply infuriating. Would that I could crush his heart between my claws…

But, as I have stressed, this is a diplomatic mission. I cannot simply resort to violence because of a disagreement with my guide. The survival of my people depends on my successful negotiations with the royal family of Oferria. So, while I will poke at my guide enough to keep myself entertained, I must, unfortunately, keep things tactically peaceful.

"At least pretend to act professional." I drawl, more to prod him and fill the silence than to spark meaningful conversation. He is quiet and few of words now that he knows my identity. A shame, truthfully. 

To my surprise and dissatisfaction, he does answer. "I could merely leave you here. You're dependent on my magic. And my knowledge. It's not possible for you to open the Chasm Gate and enter the capitol without me."

That is true enough. It's the entire reason for my correspondence with the royal family of Oferria, and likewise the reason I have taken a guide. The Chasm Gate is infamous amongst Oferrian society. Only trained mages of the royal court can open and close it, and only those with direct royal permission may pass through. That I have received an invitation to meet the Oferrian king is a miracle in and of itself, and I do not intend to waste this opportunity, nor do I intend to waste time leading up to my arrival fooling around with incorrigible youth. 

"It's in everyone's best interest that our countries reach some form of truce, and you should know this, if you're a trained member of the Royal Mages." 

"That doesn't mean I have to like it." He sighs. "Know this: I'm not leading you there because I want to. Far be it from me to cause a political disaster... I'm simply doing my job, nothing more. We're not allies, and we are certainly not friends."

"I would expect nothing less from a Forest Elf."

"Do you have anything else you need to take care of? Or can we prepare to leave Fogroth?"

I shake my head. There isn't anything else tying me here. This journey was always meant to be a solitary endeavor, and I knew going into it the chances of success were low. Even still, the smallest possibility of success made the risk worth it all. Am I desperate? Yes, I know I am. It is a desperation born of watching my people suffer, and so I will do whatever I can to succeed, even if I must die in the process.

Some may think me dramatic for my self-sacrificial desires; I like to think myself a pragmatist. If my people die out, then I will be king of nothing, and I was born and bred and raised to be a leader. I cannot function if I cannot save those reliant on me. What meaning is there to life without my duty as a prince? 

"Nothing keeps me here, however, we ought to get more supplies before heading out." 

Avium shakes his head. "There's no need. The forests are full of food, if you know where to look-and I definitely do-and our magic will keep us safe. You'd be wasting your coin."

Despite his irritating hateful disposition, he does have a good point there. I am not exactly low on coin, but I still prefer not to spend frivolously. Not to mention, I am unsure if I will need to use my purse to loosen lips, later. My words are often not enough.

"Very well. If you're prepared for departure, we may proceed."

"Try to keep up." 

Rude as ever, he does not await my response. His speed, no matter how many times I bear witness to it, will always remain impressive. I suppose when one lacks in height, one must compensate in other ways. I am a large man, but he is not; our approach to combat, and to moving through terrain is vastly different. Even still, watching him run and hop about with the grace of a feral cat is mesmerizing, though he will never hear such a compliment. I will take it to the grave.

I follow him over the cobblestone walkways of upper Fogroth, my boots hitting the ground with heavy thuds compared to his soft pitter patters. The muggy air leaves my clothing sticking to my skin, and the subtle afternoon breeze makes my lungs ache as I breathe in the cooler air. I am used to these small discomforts, and in some ways, I welcome them. They are a reminder that in spite of my corrupted blood, I am still mortal. I am still alive. I breathe and I heave and I ache with the same experiences of any other elf, and though my magic is a pyre on the best of days, and a thunderstorm on the worst, nothing can take away my humanity. As I run, I feel alive in ways I struggle to express in words. I am a wildfire in a brushland. I am a storm in the summer. I am a predator. 

Avium continues to sprint until we hit the edge of the city, where the cobbled path bleeds out into trodden dirt, and then a bit further, it blends into foliage. There are proper roads and  paths connecting most major cities within Offeria, but the route we must travel is a secret one. No stones, signs, or trampled dirt will guide us. Trusting that someone as insufferable as Avium will actually fulfill his role and guide me is not exactly easy. Trust is not a resource I hand out readily on the best of days, and Avium has done nothing but demean and talk down on me thus far. I've no other choice, however, and so we continue to press onwards.

The trees closer to Fogroth were ordinary trees, perhaps the height of a tavern, with healthy leaves in varying shades of green. As we push forward, though, the forest grows and morphs. Trees grow steadily larger, until they are nearly the size around of a caravan cart, and their bark a deep midnight hue. The leaves, here, come in every shade of peach, red, and purple. Moving further brings a canopy of vines and poisonous looking flowers cascading over the edges of the upper boughs. We come across a truly massive felled tree trunk, hollowed out, and covered in an assortment of wild mushrooms and stagnant moss. Here, Avium comes to an abrupt halt, and I almost collide with him. It is only my combat experience that allows me to adequately dodge and roll to the side. The mud that sticks to my face tastes like ash, and I try not to think about how unpleasant the landing was. 

"We'll need to move upwards from here. The ground ahead is much too dangerous to traverse by foot. Can you jump? Or do you require assistance?"

"Assistance?" I have absolutely no idea what he could possibly refer to. I don't think anyone would be able to jump atop the branches that cover the forest floor; the lowest ones are still at least twenty heads taller than I. "You must be mad if you think any elf capable of jumping that high."

Avium snorts. "I can. That's why I asked.” Surely his words must be in jest. 

“There’s no need to fuck with me, kid.”

“I’m not a kid, and I hardly need to fuck with you. You’ve made plenty fool of yourself already...” He sneers, gesturing at the mud coating the front of my tunic. “In Offeria, even an elfling can maintain their balance in the mud.”

“Would you rather I have crashed into you?”

“I’d rather you stop complaining and answer me honestly.”

“I don’t understand what in the world you’re asking.”

He stares at me for half a moment, and I’ve half a mind to hit him. But, as I’ve learned, violence does nothing to benefit either of us. I need honesty and realism. If the forest path truly does end here, I need to know how to proceed. The judgmental stares are not helping the situation at all. “I asked if you can jump.”

“It’s not possible to jump that high.” I scoff. 

After another moment of tense eye contact, he finally sighs, and shakes his head. “You know what, never mind.” Good. He’s finally meeting me with honesty. No more of this ridiculous ploy at a level of physical dexterity elves simply do not possess. However, as soon as this thought crosses my mind, he’s once against summoning his magic around his fingertips. Glowing eyes glare my way, and two things happen simultaneously. First, he jumps. Though, perhaps, jumping is not the correct word... Because second, his magic coils in the earth below his feet, and a plant sprints forth in time with his action, propelling him high into the air, and leaving me absolutely flabbergasted. 

He is remarkably graceful; the way he twirls as he lands in the shadows of the branches above him is only just visible from the ground, but it reminds me of a butterfly. It’s mesmerizing to see such a display of skill and physical power, but even more impressive is the way he seems almost bored. The action must be one he’s repeated hundreds of times; perhaps this is simply the norm for his people, but I get the feeling that it may be his own unique skill. Forest Elf magic varies greatly, from what I understand. Though, who knows for sure. I am not from here. 

“Don’t expire down there!” However, as elegant as his movements might be, his personality is still that of a sour grape. I scowl. 

“You said you’d assist me. Consider this my one display of weakness. I can’t jump that high. I need help getting up.”

“I don’t think I can hear you, Old Man, can you speak a bit louder?” I cannot see his face clearly from down on the forest floor, but I know for a fact that he is sneering at me. Of course he would take the time to actually play with me when given the chance. Anyway…

“What the fuck did you call me-?” I’m not that much older than him. For we elves, who sometimes live for multiple millennia, a hundred or some odd years is hardly a blink of the eye. He’s young and cocky but I am still physically just as youthful as he. 

He waves down at me, calling out in an even more sing-song voice, “Wolfram, you’ll need to speak louder.”

My anger is mounting now, but I refuse to let him have this victory. I yell out, as loud as my lungs are capable, “Just let me up, please.”

Evidently, this is enough to inspire acquiescence. I can once again see the faint green glow of his eyes building from the top of the tree branches, and I steady my posture, crouching just enough to let me spring upwards. However, the boost never comes. I straighten my posture, cocking my head, brows furrowed, as I glance up to see what he’s actually doing- And, just as I turn my vision upwards once more, I see a collection of vines creeping downwards. They’re different from the ones dangling off the forest canopy; more vibrant in color, thicker in texture, and smooth. Though they do have the occasional teal colored leaf scattered across them, they are overall fairly absent of texture. Even more perplexing, however, is the fact that, although they seem rather heavy, they are entirely absent of the usual physics and gravity that vines should possess.

They creep closer, until they are almost touching me, and I warily inch away. “Avium. There’s... Something weird down here. Please hurry up!”

But even still, the boost I seek does not come. Instead, the braid of vines finds its way directly to me, and wraps itself securely around my torso. I lash out, limbs flailing in every direction at the restriction, but they only wrap tighter, now restricting even my limbs. 

In my early planning for this mission, there were repeated warnings. The forests of Offeria are dangerous, but even more dangerous is the presence of tainted magic within a pocket of vibrant life. If I unnecessarily activate my fire here, it’s possible that I could pass the corruption directly into the roots and soil of this area- While reversible if the right population is present to deal with a disaster, it is still far from an optimal outcome. I don’t want to cause an international conflict when I’m attempting to solve our disputes!

“Avium! I need assistance!” My continued struggles do not deter the vines, no matter how much I call upon my physical strength. One of the other tendrils crawls across my face, bringing with it the horrible thought that my shouts may be gagged- But no sooner does the thought arrive than it pulls back and smacks me firmly alongside the gaunt edge of my cheekbone. The smack brings with it very little pain, but it puts an aggressive pause on my panic, and steals the remnants of my words. 

What the fuck?

“Stop struggling,” Avium snaps, high above me. “It’s harder to grab a moving target.” Then, the vines relax their grip enough to leave me breathing room, and just as abruptly, I am being hoisted high into the air. What?

As I ascend, my vision begins to expand. Following along the length of the vines gripping me tight, I can see the way they tangle and shift and blend into the flesh of a tanned arm. Avium’s other hand is pressed firm across the bottom of his face, his chest heaving with suppressed laughter. Of course he would find humor in my misery. I shouldn’t have expected anything else, given his prior animosity, and given the relationship between our countries. 

“As impressive as your magic is, why could you not have simply given me a jump boost?” I am beyond irritated now, my jaw clenching to reign in the molten fury that threatens to erupt outward. 

“I can’t trust your timing. It’s not exactly an easy skill to master even when you know it’s coming.” Avium rolls his eyes, kicking at the edge of the branch he stands upon. I really am starting to despise the guy. 

“I would have figured it out!”

“And if you didn’t? I’m not a healer. And even if I were, I wouldn’t be able to heal a Tainted.”

“For fuck’s sake- I can take care of myself!” It’s true enough that Offerian magic won’t work on me, but even still... It’s not like I’m going to break all the bones in my body from a bad landing, should I fuck up a jump. And even if I did, they would knit themselves together anew. 

But Avium, the insufferable brat that he is, smiles and bats his lashes, as if doing so will somehow fool me into believing his taunts “I’m just doing my job, oh kind and peaceful diplomat-”

“Last I checked your job wasn’t to nearly strangle me-”

“Oh relax. I have full control of my magic. Plus, this way I can keep you safe from the wildlife.”

“Let go of me!” I don’t care about the damn wildlife! I’d rather die at the maw of a Thousand-Toothed Beast than lose control of my body!

“I don’t think I will!” And in spite of my further struggles, my heated words, and my desperation, he ignores me in full. He pulled my bound form closer against his own body, until I am tucked beneath his vine-covered limb, and a couple wayward strands snake around his torso to anchor me in place. This time, he does gag me, a vine swiping across my mouth. Biting down does not break the surface of appendance. It does squish a little, which is a relief; my jaw will not ache from the presence of such a firm foreign entity. However, I am left quite forcefully speechless, bound, and entirely at his mercy. 

And before I can even consider calling upon my own magic, another vine moves to cover my eyes. Panicked, I attempt to thrash around, but by this point I am so thoroughly secured that I cannot even move my fingers. When I finally fall limp, Avium murmurs, “There you go, stay still and this will go much faster.”

Then, any remaining sense of orientation I may have possessed is lost to the vertigo of Avium hopping through the forest.