Chronicles of the Chosen IV

An alley, of the darkest city. A dark silk corner. A home to rats. Where a drunk may often loose is grip on the world around him. A light is shining.

Rooftops, edged with barbed wire. A shapeless figure, flying above the streets. Along the rooftops, only needing a single tap on the cold stone to carry on.

A guard at a branch of the mage guild. Not a mage himself; he thought it too unnatural. With a convoy escorting a few items around: a normal job. His company prefer the mage guild to inns because it’s considerably cheaper. Probably because of the explosions. It was because of this that he decided to sleep in the carriages. Even with his lamp there was some shadow leading to the carriages, no, not a shadow, a burn…

For Elena getting the necessary equipment for this job wasn’t hard. She just had to make false promises and prevent them from happening. Some would call it dishonest but she thought none of them deserved more than decapitation. She only needed the powder just in case. Sadly it was needed, but the location meant it didn’t compromise her escape. Reaching a ladder now; sliding down the side of “the elven arms,” she hated any hints that elves could get drunk. They have more self control than that. Landing perfectly. Taking off her balaclava. Revealing her long, well kept, fair hair, and the “divine” sign of her people mixing with the lesser race. A brand of the letters “H” and “E.”

The side of an armoured carriage blown open, a single box stolen, one which contained a precious brooch that shone with every colour imaginable.

Elena was an avatar of the gods now.