Arcane Journey

Chapter 110 Final Chapter
The air was heavy and humid, as it was every summer day in this wide green field for Silversong, the golden elf.

The west of Yongju Island is kissed by the sea breeze all year round, and he didn't even realize that he had left the verdant and rich supreme forest for decades.

Severil walked stealthily in the warm green shadow of the ruined walls of the palace, looking at everything around him, he recovered from his recollection, and the cold hatred gradually appeared in his perfect eyes.

He is protected by an exquisitely crafted golden gown that seems to be made of snake skin, and in his hand is a deadly elven thin-bladed sword imbued with high-strength magic.

Even by the fastidious standards of a golden elf, he was striking and handsome.

However, in his rage, his exquisite features were clouded, making him look like a wronged angel.

He took stock of the damage as far as he could see: the scorched remains of an old flame, the abandoned courtyard, the broken windows and the pierced roof, and pushed his sword forward without any pretense. Return the scabbard.

He couldn't figure out how it all came to this point, and it pissed him off, engulfed him in a searing rage.

"They turned my homeland into a wasteland!"

he growled, then took a deep breath to calm himself down.

Fifty summers ago he had left with his sister Thalise the manor of his mother's family, which was protected by powerful spells against weather, time, and thieves.

But now it seems that his meticulous arrangements in the past are nothing but nothing.

The spell he had planted had been broken, and strong, verdant trees stood in the overgrown courtyard, and the hall was buried deep within, exuding a damp smell of rotting wood.

The old manor was unscrupulously destroyed by roots and rain, but this is the law of the growth of all things and the change of seasons.

What's the point of blaming nature for the way it's been designed?
Of course he wouldn't, so he wisely held back his anger.

To protect the halls of Movillier, his grandfather built ancient gates and weaved innumerable spells, all in the hope that one day the footsteps of an elf would step into its marble halls, and those who broke It is the culprit to disperse them and disperse them.

Severier turned around slowly, studying the empty rooms in the manor.

At this point, all he could do was confirm the extent of the damage and try to piece together the clues as to what happened to the house that had stood there for so many years in this silent and empty forest.

What happened to the vestibule was evident, with the destruction of the strong ancient gate.

The graceful carvings by his grandfather had been dented, and the log that had been a makeshift battering ram had been left at the door, and now there was nothing left but a ten-foot outline of rotting wood, but the splinters from the door's splintered But stayed in the hall.

"How long does it take for a freshly felled log to rot like this," he murmured, wondering. "40 years? Or 50 years?"

Apparently, the thieves visited here not long after he and his sister Sallys abandoned it for the verdant paradise of Evermeet.

He had thought that a few generations would pass before the humans set out to plunder the halls of the Children of Alvado.

But man has never had the virtue of patience, has he?

Severil stepped into the house following the signs of the old days.

For at least a while, the vestibule itself had been reduced to someone's stable.

Piles of black marks show where scattered straw and animal waste fell.

On a hand-built stone circle the size of a fist, thick, oily coal ash left streaks of scorched marks on the wall, indicating that a fire had been lit here long ago.

Severil fiddled with the pile of ashes, and pulled out a few pieces of scorched black bones.

The fragments of a leather goblet, and a wooden spoon that was carelessly thrown aside, were human work, and they owe it all to them.

He stood up and clapped his hands clean, then followed the trace of the injury into the house.

The situation in every room is exactly the same: there is not a single piece of furniture left in this old elf manor, and everything has been looted.

He walked down the steep stone steps to the crypt under the house, and here Severyl smiled for the first time in an hour.

Some former intruder was knocked down by the house's magical guards.

The guardian of this room is a living statue, a warrior puppet animated by elven spells.

The statue itself fell apart nearby, but a human skeleton was embedded in the opposite wall.

The latter's hollow eyes stare at the mottled ceiling above his head, his skull crushed flat on one side.

The handwriting of the stone guards, Severil guessed.

"At least some of you still paid the price for greed."

He said to the withered bones, "But your cronies don't seem to think you're worth the effort to bury or cremate. It seems that you're really out of luck in choosing your friends, huh?"

He knelt down against the skeleton and examined it carefully.

A piece of rusted chain mail hung loosely over the bones, but beneath the mail a gleam of metal caught his attention.

Carefully he removed a dull silver pendant from the dead man's tunic.

A galloping horse of dull silver straddles the faded green enamel of the talisman.

I've seen this emblem before, Severil realized.

In an insignificant human village not far from Movillier Manor, there was this sign on the door of a rough and dirty human tavern.

"It turns out that humans from the highest forest robbed my home?" he murmured.

He tore the pendant from the skeleton's neck, clutching the rusted amulet tightly in his fist as he rose.

This utter ingratitude hit him hard.

Severil followed the army of the queen of Evermeet back to the sea of ​​trees in the high forest, in order to crusade against the demon elves who dared to touch the island of Evermeet.

These vile sons of demons hide in the ruins of Hellgate Keep and Myth Droro in Cormanthor, threatening all human lands around them.

Severil died with all those who joined the jihad, just to stop evil.

The blood and courage of the elves are the only barriers remaining between those humans and the nightmares of hellfire and ancient malice.

Just less than five kilometers away from him, there are still more than [-] elf warriors who serve the queen of Yongju Island, guarding those pitiful human villages.

But all he saw around him was an indictment of how vile human thieves and shepherds had taken over what was left of the people of Severil.

Did they forget about us 100 years ago?he thought furiously.

Why would an elven warrior take risks just to protect such a creature?

What kind of idiot is the Commander of the Expedition to spend even an hour trying to find out kindness and assistance from humans, or anything like that from humans?
Severil, his face contorted in disgust, wrapped the pendant from the dead thief in a piece of fabric and dropped it into a pouch on his belt.

Regarding this emblem, he intends to ask clearly, and the sooner the better.

Then, while lowering his head to avoid the low stone beams, he walked along the stairs into the room under the manor house.

The air was cold and musty, and the wooden floors above it had changed startlingly from the heat and humidity of midsummer.

He didn't bother with lighting, the high noon sun shone faintly from the corridor, enough for his elf eyes to see the condition of the underground house at a glance.

It has not been spared either.

The scarred stones show that fierce and brutal battle magic was once unleashed.

What used to be a summoning spell trap that would have pitted the intruders against a loyal and true guardian of celestial beasts has been wiped from the walls.

Five angular arches led from the room to the side passage at the bottom of the stairs, and the impenetrable doors that closed them are no longer there.

Acid erosion, spell disintegration, and may even be taken away as spoils of war.

But it doesn't matter, does it?What matters is that the ancient crypt is now wide open and defenseless.

It is true that Severell's mother's family left no treasures worth keeping secret in their abandoned estates.

However, they are sure that their dead will rest in peace after powerful magic and elven masonry.

Scanning the crypts one by one, Xavierell saw dozens of his mother's ancestors and kin stripped clean of any burial jewelry they might have worn.

Their remains were scattered all over the place in a haphazard manner, looted and rummaged, and then abandoned.

Several fell to his knees, tears welling up in his eyes, but he didn't allow himself to look away.

Now that it was over, he didn't allow himself to back down before fully witnessing these atrocities.

Plenty of jewels and burial goods are placed in the mausoleum for the enjoyment of the afterlife, which is not the way the elves send the dead to Avandor.

The golden elves are different from human beings, they are suspicious of death, and they hope that those rituals and treasures can be exchanged for power when the deadline comes.

Most Gold Elf nobles are buried in their most elegant attire, with formal jewels and diadems simply paying their respects.

But this does not mean that it is a matter of course for those scavengers to take away the things that pay homage to the dead.

He entered the last crypt, and the loss here made him bitter beyond words.

This is the resting place of his mother's cousins, the last to bear the Movillier name.

Sleeping with him was the ancient Moonblade of House Movillier.

Since the last descendant of the Movillier family passed away, this family sword has been dimmed and fell asleep.

Each moon blade is a symbol of the elf family, and each rune on the sword symbolizes a power of the sword. If the family declines, no one can use the moon blade.

And this ancient sword was stolen as expected.

Even if the sword has been dormant or completely silent, it is still a well-deserved treasure of the Movillier family—of course, the Movilier's mother's family.

All the other things Severil could barely endure, although they were tantamount to being filled with pain, but Xiao Xiao who stole the Deathly Moon Blade gave him a deep and hot painful blow in the middle of the chest.

"What does conscience mean to you?"

He asked the long-lost tomb robber: "Is there nothing you would be in awe of?"

Severil retreated to the central hall, weeping silently in the darkness and shadows, as if all the bitterness of his life was poured out at this moment.

He was born in this house 100 years ago.

The soft lights sway with the spring breeze in the cold night, the dome of green and fragrant grape branches and leaves covers the courtyard in summer, and the mirrors in the high windows of the library reflect the orange-gold frost color in the autumn morning.

For him, everything is still vivid.

Sadly, nothing remains of his early years.

Just then, a tap belonging to a certain claw saved his life.

When the filthy abyss monster threw himself from the steps and attacked, Severil regained consciousness from his grief and was able to dodge it.

A black shadow galloped past him as swiftly as lightning, and the claws whizzed past where the elf's head and neck had been earlier.

A scorching and sharp claw grazed Severil's face, and the powerful momentum forced him to turn sharply to the other side, thus making the monster lose the opportunity to rip the throat of its prey condescendingly.

Severil exclaimed, and took a few steps back, and drew out his saber after confirming the position with the space between his arms.

His opponent resembled something of a rotting goat, but with a long, thick tail that tangles behind it like a hungry viper.

Its skin was crimson and burning, and its eyes glowed like green flames that burned in the shadows of the Underdark.

"Crying for the dead, Elf?" it hissed. "Don't worry, I'll leave your bones here with the rest of the wreckage."

"Insulting my ancestors, you are asking for your own death, lackey of the abyss!" Severil roared, putting the tip of his sword between the monster and himself.

The demon grinned, revealing its sharp, rotting fangs, and then rushed towards the elf in a storm of claws and spiked horns.

But Severil was already prepared for the monster, and he let himself slide into the meditation of the sword mage naturally, a state where the body and mind were immersed in the dance of thousands of carvings all the time.

Xavieril moved his sword carefully and steadily, guiding the monster's claws away from his flesh, dodging its tail stabs, and concealing subtle thrusts and return blows.

The razor-like tip of the thin-edged sword searched for the flesh and blood of the demon in the gap between the sharp claws, back and forth.

A stream of blood splattered.

Hot black blood was scattered on the dusty floor, but the monster paid no attention to the wounds.

It bit and whipped furiously, and the horns of its minions swept Severil with a strong wind.

Elves and demons fought to the death in chilling silence save for the hollow strikes and scrapes of claws and swords.

Sharp barbs pierced Xavieril's limbs, and claws ripped through his gleaming chain mail, but he fought on, not letting pain and fatigue distract him for a moment.

The demon tried to grab Severyl's sleeve with a clawed palm and shove at him so that it could go through him like a nail in the bed.

But Severil turned his body sideways, and at the same time shook off the monster's claws, roared a deadly spell, and tightly grasped the monster's arm with his free hand.

Golden light burst at the swordmage's touch, burning his opponent's arm into a useless coke.

Just as the demon backed away with a low gasp, it loosened its grip on Severil.

It crouched down and began to twist its body, dancing its tail with terrifying spikes around its body so that it could split rocks.

Severil jumped over the demon's attack, and pierced the monster's throat with a thin-edged sword, a foot deep.

The demon drove him back with a frenzied frenzy of whips and stabs, but black blood welled from its mouth and flowed between his yellow fangs.

It staggered two steps towards Several, but its green eyes turned gray, and then fell to the floor, pouring into the small pool of filthy rot on its own body.

Xavierel aimed cautiously, and pierced it with another thrust.

Then he took a few steps back and waited for the corpse to disappear - as summoned monsters always did.

But nothing happened.

Right where he fell, the corpse of this abyssal lackey turned into a foul pool of pus and blood.

"It wasn't summoned?" he whispered in shock.

The thing wasn't conjured into the physical world by a spell, it must have voluntarily passed through some kind of passage connecting the planes it lives on.

It really exists in this world.

An ominous sign.

Was the monster's presence in the world the work of a demon elf, or some other dangerous presence intent on thwarting Severil and his elves?
Regardless of the answer, that's all the clues he could find in the ruins of Movillier Manor.

Who exactly stole the ancient Moonblade, and how humans have anything to do with it, can no longer be answered here.

Exhausted and depressed, Xavieril shook off the rancid blood on the blade, turned and walked up the stairs, returning to the warmth of midsummer.

………………

Several returned to camp an hour before sunset.

It was a pleasant place, a clearing under the shade of the leaves, a stone's throw from the rumble of the River Riven, patrolled by twenty elven warriors under Severil's command.

"Your Excellency Several is back!" A clear voice called.

Severil looked up, and the moon elf ranger Andariel was standing on a boulder overlooking the camp, raising his bow in greeting.

Andariel, who was born in the city of Ilranser, was young and impulsive. He admired Severil's noble background and personal achievements, and was so serious about it that Severil sometimes couldn't help but wonder if he did it on purpose. To the point of mocking himself, but under the young elf's true feelings, he never found the slightest sarcasm.

Severil waved back to Andariel's greeting, and walked towards his temporary residence that doubled as a lounge and command room.

Two other elves had been waiting here for a long time: Selina—another moon elf priest, gold elf mage Triandine—possibly Severil's closest and most sincere friend among the elves involved in the crusade.

Triandion had a thin, pointed goatee composed of smooth golden whiskers, unusual for an elf.

His nonchalant demeanor and sparkling green eyes, combined with his beard, give him a sarcastic, dour look.

The mage glanced at Severil and raised his eyebrows, "What's wrong with you?"

"I met a demon at the ruins of Movillier Manor."

"Devil?" Selina said sharply, and dropped the feathered arrow on the ground, "Your Excellency Saiosherin, are you injured?"

"It's nothing serious." After Severil finished speaking, he turned his attention back to Triandine. "I solved it, but its corpse didn't disappear. It wasn't summoned."

"The demon elf must have controlled some kind of portal, or this monster is one of the demons trapped in the gate of hell. I heard that many monsters have been wandering in the ruins for many years." Triandian raised his eyebrows. It was even higher, "Do you know what kind of monster that is?"

"Half a foot taller than a tall elf, with a strong physique, a pale ram's head with huge curved horns, no wings, but a snake-like tail that ends in a group of twisted metal spines."

"That's the Brezu, sometimes called the Goat-Rot." The mean-faced golden elf looked at Severil more carefully. "You are very lucky to be back after this battle, Severil."

Severil shrugged his shoulders and refused to comment. Priest Selina drew a slender poplar wand from her belt, knelt down beside him, and muttered a prayer of healing.

The sword mage flinched slightly when the holes, bruises, and bruises were stimulated again, but the pain of all the wounds quickly disappeared invisible under the magic comfort of the moon elves.

He took a deep breath and nodded gratefully to her.

"What are demons doing at Movillier Manor?" she asked, withdrawing her wand.

"The house is now in ruins." Severil replied sadly:

"It was plundered, its protective magic broken, and even the cellars below were looted. My mother's kin were plundered in their sleep, and then abandoned. Thieves even stole from Mo Villiers Moonblade, there is nothing there now."

"I grew up there, and it was only fifty winters and summers away from there. But seeing it now, we will all mistakenly think that the sons and daughters of Avandor have left this land for dozens of centuries, not tens of years. year."

"Who committed such atrocities?" Moon Elf Selina asked loudly.

"Someone with this emblem." Severil stretched out his hand to show the pendant of the galloping horse to the other two. "I found it on the bone of a dead human in the house."

"I know the sign," said Triandine, "that hangs over the tavern in a human village called Green Valley Village."

Xavierel narrowed down the list of owners of the pendant and tucked it back into his coat, "Got it."

Selina sighed and shook her head, softly persuading the sad sword mage, "Several, how long has the corpse been there? How long ago was your family home invaded? Maybe ten years? 20 Years? Even 50 years? The humans living in Green Valley Village may have nothing to do with this matter at all, so you must not do anything impulsive."

"For their good, I hope so." Severil stood up, looking at the setting sun, "Did our spies find any valuable information this afternoon?"

"No, everything is fine."

Triandian replied, he hesitated for a moment, and then said: "However, the envoy we sent to Silvermoon City has returned."

Severil's expression changed, and he looked at his mean friend, "Is the master of Silvermoon City willing to help us take back Ilranser City?"

He is the prince of the Silversong family, and his father is the ruler of Irranser City, but two months ago, a small number of elf families jointly staged a coup and killed his father.

Elves are a peaceful race.

The city of Ilranser in the High Forest was once built to commemorate Karthus, a great arcanist of the Netheril Empire in ancient times, and was once reduced to ruins.

It was his ancestors who united with the moon elves, wood elves and gold elves of the high forest to rebuild this peaceful city dominated by elves.

But as the Silversong family lost control of Ilranser City, countless elven civilians were massacred and had to go to Silvermoon City for refuge.

This made him realize that everything behind this was pointing to a conspiracy woven by some evil existence.

He must take advantage of the opportunity of the Evermeeting Island Expeditionary Force to reach the highest forest to recapture the city of peace that belongs to his Yinsong family.

The prerequisite for doing all of this is to get the support of the Silver Moon Alliance.

"It's not ideal." Triandine stroked his goat's golden beard and said to him, "Strictly speaking, we haven't seen the Lord Silvermoon at all."

"What do you mean?" Several looked at him puzzled.

He had recently returned to the surface from the city of Blingdenstone in the Underdark, so everything around him was very strange.

"Silvermoon City has yet to elect a real leader."

The moon elf priest said helplessly, "With the death of the former lord, the supreme lady, Elastra, the most suitable successor was Mesramar, the son of the supreme lady. Councilor and de facto leader of Silvermoon City."

"Sorry, can I get to the main point?" Several glanced at Selina apologetically.

"The Guardian of the Northland, Ms. Valamarandes, Queen of the Silver Moon Dragon, believes that Methramar is too straightforward and sincere to be a leader at all." Triandian said to him, "Veramaran Ms. Daisy has found someone more suitable."

"Since the Silver Moon Dragon Queen has interfered in the management of Silver Moon City, why hasn't the position of City Lord been confirmed yet?" Severil looked at the two of them in bewilderment.

Queen of the Silvermoon Dragon, Ms. Vera Marrades is an ancient golden dragon, and her husband, 'Silver Wing' Diszer Rodden, an ancient silver dragon, calls herself: Guardian of the Northland.

This pair of giant dragon couples who have been living in legends silently guard the Northland, and often appoint agents and city lords they think are suitable.

Now that Ms. Vera Marrades has denied the leadership status of the son of Alustriel and found a new agent, this should have been a very smooth thing.

"The agent Ms. Vera Marantes found is not willing to take up the position of city lord." Selina sighed slightly, "So, Silvermoon City has fallen into this situation."

"I have already found out the cause of the problem." Triandine frowned and said:
"The agent found by the Silver Moon Dragon Queen is a psion, who seems to be an elf from another material world. The reason why she is unwilling to take the post of city lord is mainly because during the journey of traveling through the star realm, she has a relationship with one of her own. A companion got separated. She has no intention of managing anything until she finds this companion."

"I've seen this Psychic." Selina said, "Ms. Vera Marrades once talked to me personally, and asked all the elves in our highest forest to support her as the Lord of Silver Moon. In this case, from Ice Wind The humans and dwarves of Methramar, the men and dwarves of Vale, Mirabar, Mithril Hall, and Sundabar, will not object to it."

"If she is the leader of Silvermoon City, with the support of the Silver Alliance, our expeditionary force from Evermeet Island will have a much easier time conquering the territory of the High Forest and taking back Ilranser City." Triandine said calmly.

"Then is there any news about this psionist's companion?" Severil nodded slightly, agreed with his best friend, and looked at him suspiciously.

"It's not clear yet."

Triandian frowned again, "Your Excellency 'Silver Wing' Diszerodon, has gone to the Ennook Desert to search around, and we have also borrowed the power of the Island of Ever Gathering to pass the expedition of Comanthor Army, help them find together.”

"What's the name of her companion? What are the distinctive features?" Severil nodded thoughtfully and asked curiously.

"It's a male half-elf battle mage and a psion who possesses the power of psionic power. His name is Brian..." Moon elf priest Selina replied in a rather proficient tone.

………………

(End of this chapter)