They spoke softly, but Cleave’s elven ears could easily hear them. The elves debated over whether to help the adventurers or not.
It was initially four against one. Larukel wanted to aid the adventurers while the elves wanted to leave them to their fate. The other elves with Larukel seemed to be worried that Cleave and his friends would discover their location and place them all in danger.
Cleave’s vision got darker and he slumped against the tree. He struggled to lift his head and saw Tarka leaning against Krug. The half giant used his warhammer and a tree to keep his wobbly legs on the ground.
The debate grew more fervent. Larukel pointed out the adventurers would likely die if left alone. His companions argued back but eventually their resistance dissolved.
Larukel knelt down to Cleave’s eye level. “Adventurer, I’ve had a discussion with my fellow scouts about your current condition, and we feel that if we left you here, you would likely perish.”
“You think,” Tarka said.
“We have generously decided to allow you to come with us back to our tribe,” one elf said.
“We are loath to do so,” another elf said, cutting his eyes to Tarka, “as your presence among us would upset the balance, but it is something that can be tolerated if it means upholding ourselves as defenders of the forest.”
“We thank you for your generosity,” Cleave said weakly.
TEN
The elves helped the party to their feet and tied blindfolds around their eyes. They were led through the forest. Their heavy boots crushed the leaves beneath them while their elven companions didn’t make a sound.
Cleave was nervous. Not being able to see where he was going in the dense and dangerous forest set his nerves on end. On top of that, a little jolt of pain shot through his body every time he moved an arm or leg a certain way.
He also wasn’t sure about the elves. He understood why they blindfolded him, but he had no way of discerning their intentions beyond healing him and his friends. For all he knew, they were ferocious cannibals that were leading him to his doom. Cleave smiled to himself. Unexplored had gotten him paranoid. However, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.
His fears were abated when his blindfold was removed and he found himself surrounded by a large number of elves. After doing a quick count it seemed like there were around eighty, sitting in trees, skinning animals, and doing various other activities. There were also a few tents set up, in which, Cleave imagined, were more elves carrying on their daily work.
A few elven children in loose fitting tunics and breeches ran past him, laughing and giggling at each other. Their voices were gentle and melodic.
The elves were very beautiful people, with sharp angular features and high cheek bones. Their clothing was meticulously crafted from furs. The clothes fit their features perfectly. Cleave caught himself looking at the shapely elven women as they sauntered by in their form fitting garments.
Some of the elves wore jewelry crafted from several different types of stones on chains of silver and gold. Even from a distance, Cleave could tell the craftsmanship was spectacular.
“It is custom to take those we bring to our village to see our leader. We can’t take any further action until then. Remember your manners,” a brown haired elf said.
“We’re not savages, “ Tarka exclaimed. “We bathe, eat, and, you’re not going to believe this, think like normal folks.”
“Please tell your friend to watch her tongue,” the elf said to Cleave.
Tarka balled her fists and looked like she was about to jump the elf, but a little touch on the shoulder from Krug kept her in place, shaking.
The group was led to a large tent set up between three large trees. The elves looked up from whatever business they were engaged in and stared after the kobold and half-giant as they made their way past.
Tarka looked at the many different elves eying her. They scowled at her and she scowled back. Krug and Cleave kept a close eye on her to make sure nothing would happen. Cleave brushed a hand over the kobold’s shoulder. The tenseness left her muscles and the corners of her mouth flickered upward.
The eyes of many elves honed in on the gesture and Cleave looked at them. Their mouths tightened but they said nothing as they walked toward to a large tent made from bright leaves sewn tightly together. In fact, all of the tents in the area had covers made of these leaves. The foliage that served as the tent covering seemed alive. He wondered how the leaves didn’t die. He cast his spell on the tent to see if there we magical properties.
Infused with Evergreen Magic
Keeps plantlife alive in all circumstances.
Before they reached the tent, three elves in ornately crafted plate armor, with large oak trees engraved on the chests, came out to meet them. Their leader, a surly elf woman with short red hair, planted her spear into the ground and sneered at Larukel.
“Larukel, what is the meaning of this?” She said, pointing to the three party members.
Larukel, the brown haired elf, cleared his throat. “We ran into this small group of adventurers on a hunt. They were beset by Streshanks and we rescued them. We’ve brought them here to administer healing and any other aid they might need.”
When any other aid was mentioned, Cleave immediately thought of the journal. “We might need your help. We have a document in old Elvish-”
“Silence. You will not speak unless spoken to,” the armor clad elf said. “You said you have a document in old Elvish. Show me.”
Tarka was hesitant to show the elven maiden. The elf pointed her spear at Tarka and the kobold reluctantly handed over the diary. She turned through the pages and her eyes went wide.
“This diary is the property of our chieftain. I don’t know how you came to own this but this will be returned to its rightful owner.”
“But we need that diary to complete our quest,” Krug said. “We’ve been sent on a quest by Bitterroot to retrieve the Ting of Treesoul.”
The elf woman’s eyebrows went up. “Bitterroot? The living tree? He’s still alive?”
Tarka nodded. “He’s our friend.”
“Silence, fiend. We have not heard from Bitterroot in many centuries, but we doubt he would associate himself with those of your ilk.”
“He has and still does,” Cleave growled.
The elf opened a pack on her shoulder and placed the diary in it. “I tell the chieftain about you and if he wishes to grant you an audience, you’ll see him.”
The woman turned and went back to the tent, leaving the other two armored elves to guard the entrance.
Cleave’s glance wandered and noticed several elves had gathered to watch them at a distance. Many of them wore scowls and looks of disdain, while the children seemed curious. There was one figure among them that didn’t quite belong.
It was a woman with long, pink hair. She was a little taller than the other elves and wore a dress with a white top that seemed to be hiding a very prolific bust. The bottom of the dress was black and went all the way to the ground.
The bell shaped bottom was very large, even in proportion to the tall woman, and it might have been the wind, but it seemed like there were parabolic movements beneath the fabric.
The woman smiled nervously at Cleave and shifted her dress. He tore his glance away from her and looked back at the tent. The redheaded elf returned, looking haughtier than before.
“I have spoken to the chieftain and he does not wish to see you. Furthermore, he wishes you to leave immediately.”
“But we can’t force them to leave in their condition, that isn’t our way,” Larukel said.
“That is not our concern. They are interloping in an area of the forest they have no business in. We can’t be held responsible for their poor sense of judgement.”
“What about our book,” Krug said.
“You mean the property of our chieftain? He has accepted your gift as an apology for invading our camp. You are free to leave.”
“You might as wel
l kill us,” Tarka said angrily. “If we leave in the condition we’re in, we’ll die!”
The red headed elf thrust her spear at the kobold with blinding speed. Cleave reached out to stop the attack but his exhausted body fell limply to the ground.
The spear came within an inch of Tarka’s neck. The kobold swallowed hard. The elves gathered around whispered to each other.
“That can be arranged, filth.”
Larukel shoved the spear away from Tarka’s neck. “There is no need to act this way. These are our guests, and we will treat them with respect.” The elf looked to his fellow scouts. “Please take them to a spare tent and make sure they receive healing.”
“Do not, if you do you’ll be considered traitors to the people of the Lren,” the red headed elf said.
“I doubt the chieftain will consider us traitors for providing aid to those in need,” Larukel said.
“I will tell the chieftain about this immediately.”
“See that you do. It’s the job of a guard to make sure the chief knows who is in his camp.”
Cleave was pulled back up to his feet. As he was led away, he turned his head and saw the red headed elf glare after him.
ELEVEN
One of the scouts led Cleave and Tarka to a large leaf tent. Krug had to be taken to his own tent because of his size. The tent was barren save for a small table and a straw mat on the floor. The elf that led them there watched the party go inside, then shut the tent behind them.
Green tinged sunlight seeped through the leaves. It was shady and cool inside and helped soothe Cleave’s nerves.
Cleave was unable to stand so he laid down on the mat. The straw bristles poked into his skin, but it was a lot more comfortable than pressing through a dense forest with Streshanks chewing into his flesh and sucking his blood.
Tarka walked up to the tent and lifted the lower flap cover. There were two pairs of boots there. She threw it down and walked over to sit by Cleave.
“They posted a guard. They seriously posted a guard. What did they think we’d do, go around and spread our ‘imbalance’ throughout the camp?”
“I have no clue. At least they let us stay in a tent,” Cleave said, not feeling well enough to feel the seething rage the kobold was experiencing.
“No wonder the halflings hate these bastards. If they’re anything like that red headed bitch.”
“They aren’t all bad. That Larukel guy seems pretty nice.”
“At least they have one saving grace,” Tarka pressed her palm into her forehead. “I wish you wouldn’t have mentioned the journal. Now we can’t find the ring.”
“I thought they might be able to help us decipher more of the journal. Maybe it has more information about the tomb.”
“Maybe it does, but now we have no map and our quest is over. You know, you’d figure they’d be friendlier. We’re trying to find something that’s just as much a part of their history as it is Bitterroot’s.”
“Maybe something in the past happened to make them this way. Kurkmud said they used to be a great kingdom. You think the other races did something to screw them over?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care. They screwed us out of our quest and now we’re gonna have to go back and tell Bitterroot we can’t get his ring.”
“There might be another way. Maybe we can ask the chieftain for a drawing of a map that’s in the journal. He could keep his journal and we can complete our quest.”
“That is an idea. But Valuthiel didn’t even want to see us. Don’t even know how we’re going to talk to him.”
Cleave wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard footsteps lead away from the tent.
Tarka punched the ground. “You know, it shouldn’t piss me off, and it normally doesn’t, but sometimes I can’t help it. I’m tired of others taking a shit on me and my friends in this game world when we didn’t do anything to them.”
“It is a big pain in the ass, but it’s how things are,” Cleave said.
“That’s bullshit Cleave, and you know it. I won’t stand for it and I don’t think you should either.”
“You trying to say you want to help clear things up in Clearwater?”
“Yep.”
“Once we’re done with this, all of us can go back and see what we can do. Maybe we’ll luck out and find some way to put down whatever evil is there.”
There was a shifting of boots outside the tent. The flap lifted and the tall pink haired woman that Cleave had seen before walked in and greeted them with a little bow. The single elf that was outside the tent now closed the flap.
The woman held a small basket in her hands that had a few salves and some bright green and yellow herbs. She smiled down at them, her blue eyes were extremely bright, like the sun shining down on a glimmering sea.
She shook the her curled pink hair behind her shoulders. “Good afternoon. The elders sent me here to look after your wounds.”
“Well,” Tarka said, “tell the elders they can screw off, I don’t want their help.”
The tall woman walked to the table and sat her basket down. Cleave watched her movements and saw a bit of sideways shifting beneath the large, flowing bottom of her dress. She caught him looking and took hold of the front.
“I understand how you feel,” the woman said. “The Lren can be pretty hard to get along with. They’re very wary of outsiders. They used to be a very powerful people, but they suffered great misfortunes in the past that caused their number to dwindle.”
“They don’t have to take their shit out on me. I probably wasn’t even alive when their fortunes turned,” Tarka said.
“Neither was I,” the woman said, “however, they are what they are. It took them forever to trust me, but after spending some time with them and healing their sick, I’ve grown to almost become a member of their tribe.”
Cleave groaned and rose from the mat. He could still feel the Streshanks gnawing on his flesh, even though they were already far gone. “I’m not happy with our treatment here, but I badly need your help. I feel like everything hurts. By the way, I’m Cleave, and this is Tarka.”
Cleave finished by pointing to the kobold, who pointedly looked away from the woman.
“I’m Muriem. If you sit on this table, I can tend your wounds.”
Cleave did so and Muriem applied her salves and herbs to the elf’s wounds and bound them. Warmth flooded his body and he instantly felt better.
Cleave Lvl. 7
HP: 87% (+50%)
Stamina: 100%
Mana: 100%
Character Status
Healthy
Tarka and Cleave watched the woman work. As she knelt to apply bandages to the elf’s legs, several odd diagonal movements occurred beneath the black fabric of the bottom of her dress. Elf and Kobold both noticed what looked like a small appendage sweeping against the fabric.
Muriem saw them staring when she finished applying the bandages and backed away. Her pretty face scrunched up.
“I would appreciate it if you didn’t stare,” she said.
Tarka and Cleave were jolted.
“Woah, I’m really sorry,” Cleave said.
“Yeah, I didn’t mean to be rude,” Tarka said.
“Well, you were. I get enough stares from the elves in this village, I don’t need any more from you.”
“Thought you said this village didn’t treat you like crap,” Cleave said.
“They don’t, at least not outwardly. But I still get stares. I came to the forest to get away from that but it’s something I can’t escape.”
“Now I’m the one being an ass, funny how that shit comes around,” Tarka sighed. “I was gonna ask if you could heal me, even though I don’t want the elder’s help I do need it. But if you don’t want to, you don’t have to,” Tarka said.
“Nonsense. It’s my duty to heal. Come up to this table and I’ll patch your wounds.”
Cleave helped Tarka on the table and the woman went to work on the kobold’s injuries.
> Tarka looked away and fiddled with her fingers. “Look uh, this is the wrong thing to say but, I don’t think whatever it is you’re hiding down there is weird.”
“I don’t either,” the woman said stiffly.
“I was intrigued,” Cleave said. “When I saw the movement, I wondered what it could be.”
“I was too,” Tarka said. “When I saw it I thought it might be, uh-”
The woman finished with Tarka and stood rigidly. “Thought they might be what?”
Tarka was struggling with something. There was a word on the tip of her tongue but it seemed like she couldn’t get it out. Finally she clenched her fists and closed her eyes. “Tentacles. Big, wet, tentacles.”
“What if they are?”
Tarka looked to the side. “They uh - would - I mean, I know I’ve been an ass, but -”
Cleave grinned. “I think Tarka wants to see them.”
The woman scowled at the grinning elf. “What are you smiling at? Why would she want to look at them?”
“Oh, so they are?” Cleave’s grin receded. “And do you need to bother asking? You’ve seen porn on the internet right?”
“A bit, yes,” Muriem said.
Tarka looked like she wanted to say something but she was overcome by a bout of fidgeting.
“Then you shouldn’t have to ask. I don’t know much about Tarka, but I was over at her house once and I found a huge stash of -”
“Shut the fuck up, Cleave,” Tarka screamed.
The boots outside the tent turned. The flap lifted for a second, but then closed and the boots turned around.
“Nothing to be embarrassed about, I like it too,” Cleave said.
“But I’m not as open about my perversions as you are,” Tarka said.
Muriem looked at the ground and rubbed the back of her neck. “I don’t think it’s perverted.”
Tarka opened her mouth but stopped. She stayed silent for a second, as if pondering something, then spoke her words carefully. “I don’t either. When I saw the movement under your dress, I was fascinated. I got lost in thought thinking about uh - dirty stuff. Staring was wrong, and I didn’t want to make you feel bad. I’m really sorry.”
Crisis at Clearwater - A LitRPG Virtual Fantasy Adventure (Book 2 Unexplored Cycle) Page 6