Tag: chapter 4

“There are no heroes. In life the monsters win.”

Her home was small. Absurdly small. It could have been affectionately  called a micro apartment. Located in a corner or Murder Row Full of creaks and reassuring noises and the soft whispers that trailed in from the outside when she left her window creaked open. WHile Murder Row was a dimly lit alley the residents there kept their business out of sight  and she had rarely seen any trouble in the years she had lived there.

The apartment was a one bedroom with one narrow hallway connecting the bathroom, the tiny closet she used for her sewing, and the living / bedroom. A small kitchenette was in the hall and as she passed it she ran her fingers against the cool wall.. It was decorated and the floors thickly textured- carpets she had made by hand, a collection of enchanting bric a brac, her staff, and enchanting supplies crammed onto the one bookshelf she had. And in that same corner was a pile of books that she really would organize. Eventually.

Some day.

Throwing off her shoes she sat down at her work desk. She needed to prepare for the Ghostlands. It was not an uncommon thing in a day to be mocked for being a diviner. It was often seen as the weakest of the schools, lacking the offensive spells others had in abundance. She had made up for it in other ways.

Enchanting was a process of using powders, crystals, and magic to infuse something. Most tended to view enchanting based on the results they had seen, which more often than not, meant weapons that could break boulders or bracers that doubled your speed. Windsong scoffed at the thought as she dipped her fingers into a jar of shimmering purple-blue powder. Carefully she began the process of making the desired enhancements for the next two hours.
Enchanting was a skill that required some talent at magic. So it came as no surprise elves excelled at the craft. Enchantment applied a wide variety of any number of magical touches to items and elf alike. For each enchanter there was a different recipe for the same enchant/ WIndsong had centuries of experience, and she could extrapolate the most successful components for herself to make a successful enchanting recipe.

Her favorite pair of socks were black with a single red band. Soft and breathable material that was as durable for combat as it was a day in Silvermoon. They were, like much of her clothing, made with her own hands.  The speed enhancement was made with eight ounces of arcane dust, a drop of vanilla oil and Windsong had sewn in spidersilk to make the proper spell design at the top. Purple crystals ground to dust and a hawkstrider feather, cut into tiny pieces. The dried remnants of a haste potion were cleaned from a vial and added. She added in a small flickering shadow from the corner for protection. All the ingredients were atop the sock thrumming  with magic. She breathed in and the magic felt like sweet sugar. When she exhaled it still tasted just as sweet down her throat. The finest sweetest candy to be found.
The last ingredient was simple and she muttered as she added a small scrap of enchanted leather that glowed bright blue as it was tossed atop the pile.

“I need speed.” She stated aloud and flexed her fingers. And now the effort for enchanting would come in. Collecting the magical ingredients was important and their significance to the enchanter carried weight as well. But you had to use magic to force the ingredients to cooperate and get what you desired. A focus could be used and her runed titanium rod wasn’t far off. It saw frequent usage through the decades.

But pure mental effort, raw willpower was her preference along with emotions and feelings. She didn’t want the safe way- she liked making the effort. It was perfect for draining her so she could sleep.She extended her hand over the sock, breathing in the sweet sweet taste of magic as she gathered up her emotions. Anger, bitterness, stubbornness and the smallest bit of sorrow in her soul was gathered together as she imagined it in the palm of her hand. Fuel for the spell. She murmured quietly as she felt the resistance build before throwing her magic at it, overcoming the resistance through her force of will and using her magic, fueled by her emotions. It left her, feeling like a punch to the gut as she sagged in her chair.

The enchanted leather burnt into nothing, shriveling, stiffening, and becoming dust before her eyes. The magic in the crystals and powder grew bright before the crystals cracked, crumbling into a fine dust, spent of all magic. The enchanting materials were worthless now, as fine as ash powder.

When picked up now the socks had the faint glow of magic to them as the magic held. It was simple to enchant bracers or footwear for speed, but what was often not mentioned after is how often people would trip or hurt themselves. She grinned  and shook away the dust from the socks,carefully setting them aside for the next day. The weariness she’d been hiding  all day weighed her down, like boulders on her back.
She only needed to take three steps to reach her bed, falling onto the soft sheets. She could feel herself sinking into the bed and crawled farther onto it before she just decided to lie there.

It was hard to put down a possible schedule for the next few days. Find a murderer before the Magisters. Kill the murderer. Put the body into magical stasis. Avoid her death and come out of it looking effortless.

The last was the hardest but it was the thought that comforted her as she went to sleep.