The ‘camp’ was more a small village. Small shacks were built around the huge perimeter, which looked as though they could be collapsed easily and put into one of the many colourful wagons.

The Maena’i clan were one of the few nomadic clans of Rillwynn left in existence; the only ones who refused to live in the ever-growing cities and towns. They travelled across the extensive land, never staying in one spot more than a few weeks.

The camp watched them as they entered, but their eyes were on Nerui, more than anybody else.

Nerui looked nervous, but she kept a stiff face. Niath put his arm around her, as though shielding her from the piercing gazes of the emerald green eyes.

“Why are they looking at you like that?” Danyel asked in a whisper.

Nerui looked at the floor,

“It’s a long story,” Was all she said.

An elderly Elf appeared from one of the largest shacks. Elderly, in the Elven culture, meant old. The life span of an Elf was incredibly long one, living into their hundreds. They aged at a different rate than other races, meaning an Elven leader could rule for many years more than a human leader.

The old Elf, however, still looked very healthy. He strode towards them, his cloak dragging on the ground, sending rolling dust clouds into the air.

He looked at Nerui with a stern expression for a moment, before breaking into a smile and hugging her.

Nerui laughed.

“Father!” She cried happily, squeezing the old man tightly.

“Careful, young one, I am not as spry as I once was,” The man chuckled. He looked at Deadrick and held his hand out, in an incredibly human gesture, “Greetings, I am Naluitha, the Clan Leader and… Nerui’s father,”

Deadrick smiled, taking the Elf’s hand and shaking it. Danyel and Bruad did the same, if Bruad’s shake was rather vigorous and forward.

“Nerui,” Naluitha said, turning back to his daughter, “It has been many long years since you were last here. As good as it is to see you, the circumstances in which you departed were hardly… good. And you most certainly wouldn’t have brought outsiders with you. What is wrong?”

Nerui sighed, referencing towards Naluitha’s shack. Naluitha nodded, and led them across the camp and into the shack, away from the watchful eyes of the observing Elves.




“Everything you have told me has just reinforced what I already feared, Inquisitor,” Naluitha explained.

Deadrick had told the old Elf everything. From the meeting between the Unholy, to the attacks on them in the Werewolves territory,

“We have heard that the North-Eastern clans have been encountering an increasing number of Unholy creatures near to the Nefern Dale border,” Naluitha explained, “Tell me, Deadrick, does the name… Juhra… mean anything to you?”

Deadrick narrowed his eyes and shook his head.

“It does to me,” Danyel said.

Deadrick looked at him, his mouth open slightly.

“It was what those Syndicate envoy’s were babbling about,” Danyel explained, “They said they had summoned a powerful evil spirit called Juhra. They had lost control of him and said that he planned many horrific things, and they were trying to warn us… it was all just nonsense, though,”

Naluitha sighed.

“No, it wasn’t,” He said, the words sending a cold chill through the air, “They were telling the truth. Members of the Syndicate have been seen fleeing Nefern Dale, and Unholy have been flooding in,”

Deadrick’s mouth fell open in shock.

The Unholy were referring to Juhra. He has summoned us.

“Juhra is planning to use the Unholy, they are connected,” He gasped.


The End

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