Arcane Journey

Chapter 10 Meeting
For the first time Santilla passed the dark jagged spires without marveling at the magical runes etched on them, or pausing long to look at them.

For the first time, she hadn't thrown a mischief spell at a drow patrol riding subterranean lizards, watching them be overturned by their mounts.

She didn't even cast a longing glance as she passed an elegant little shop enveloped in brilliant faerie fire—perfumes, soft silk gowns, magical trinkets, and other oddities.

At this moment, the faint pain in her forehead and the back of her head seemed to remind her not to forget that strange figure.

What are these compared with him?She rubbed the scar on her forehead in confusion.

Santilla occasionally saw surface humans or half-elves in the marketplace.

A few of them were warriors, but like most drow of her class, she regarded these merchants as parasites and would never do business with them.

She had never been this close to a surface dweller, let alone had a lengthy conversation with him.

There is no doubt that this battle mage from the surface world is a very young half-elf if you ignore his eyes and just look at his appearance.

Even if it is calculated by human lifespan, he is about the same age as her, or older than her.

The half-elf was a head taller than she, and he looked taller and stronger than most drow males.

Of course, this strong does not refer to mindless creatures like orcs and ogres, with big muscles all over their bodies.

There are many humans with strong physiques, and their muscular outlines are more exaggerated than battle mages, but in Santilla's view, there are very few people as uniform and strong as him.

When she lost her balance and pressed on the opponent.

She could clearly feel the small muscle mass in the other's chest and abdomen, as well as the steady and powerful heartbeat.

This inevitably made her heart beat faster.

Who would have thought that what was greeted was a violent bump on the forehead, and after falling on her back, the back of her head hit the ground with intense pain, which made her almost faint.

None of this matters, however.

In Santilla's mind, what really impressed her was the pair of eyes, deep and bright, like the brightest obsidian stones on the altar of the blood sacrifice ceremony.

The most important thing is that when she pretended to be sad about her experience in order to get out of trouble, she saw in those deep black eyes a kind of pity that she had almost forgotten.

Is he feeling sorry for me?
Santilla couldn't believe what she saw in her eyes, and she even wondered if she was wrong.

It's hard to imagine a cunning half-elf slipping up because of an emotion that the drow despise.

She frowned in confusion, and there was a sudden pain in the forehead hit by the half-elf, which made the picture in her mind inexplicably clearer.

She still remembered that he still had black hair cut in a mess, and his complexion was slightly pale, shining in the candlelight of the stone room.

Anyway, the battle mage from the Kingdom of Cormyr seemed strong, wise, and compassionate.

The city of Ancient Orens cannot tolerate sympathy. She subconsciously believes that it is not fear that allows most races to coexist peacefully, but sympathy.

She suddenly began to appreciate this quality she had long forgotten and spurned, even if he belonged to the lower race.

Moreover, he is an experienced adventurer, and he will definitely be able to tell her more about Waterdeep City and Skull Harbor.

Perhaps it would be more pleasant to find a way to keep him with me.

Santilla absently fiddled with a strand of white hair hanging on her chest, and before she knew it, she had already returned to her room.

She sat at the desk, threw aside a few burnt out candle stubs, lit a new candle, and began to look through books and scrolls.

Tomorrow is her long-awaited coming-of-age ceremony, and she needs to carefully match the spells she has learned so that she can quickly complete her hunting ceremony.

To her dismay, however, despite her best efforts, she was unable to focus her craved attention on her spell learning as usual, and the details of her encounter with the battle mage kept replaying in her mind.

She recalled the first time she had sneaked into the chamber where the half-elves were held and saw him.

He sat quietly at the desk, like a gray dwarf digging mithril, diligently gnawing on piles of books and scrolls.

That serious and focused look actually attracted her a little bit.

Especially his pity-filled eyes always come back to her mind, like a continuous and long-lasting melody.

A long sigh.

Santilla pushed aside all the scrolls she had intended to read.

She got up from the chair and threw away the drow cloak she was wearing.

Then he threw himself on the bed, intending to rest for a while.

She needed a break to face the day ahead.

She hugged the silk pillow, but sleep could not come to her.

Suddenly, she looked startled, and suddenly jumped up from the bed.

Like a ghost, a group of people stood silently in front of her.

Even after so many years, his unexpected appearance still made her mentally exhausted.

He definitely did it on purpose, she thought bitterly.

Santilla quickly put on an expression that she had rehearsed countless times in front of the mirror.

It was a casual smile, a cynical look.

Drow life is full of complex intrigue, but in Santilla's eyes, nothing is more complicated than her feelings for her drow father.

She adored and resented, loved and feared, loathed and longed for her father, and it was hard to imagine that such different feelings could exist at the same time.

And, what hurt her even more, none of the feelings were even echoed in the slightest.

At least, a half-elf she met today who she had never met before could feel pity for her, but he never would.

To her, the Chief Archmage of the ancient Orens City was a complete mystery.

Hydraf Pumol is her biological father, but the drow are a matrilineal society.

The Chief Archmage defies tradition by forcing her to leave the First House Taks, becoming a homeless person like him.

Then he ridiculously threw her to the first family to raise her.

For this, she paid the heaviest price in her life.

Every time I see him.

She seemed to hear the screams protesting betrayal, betrayal, murder and other evil deeds, intertwined with the fierce howls of the high priests of the Spider Queen who led the drow society.

These voices have always been echoing in her head, always occupying a place, especially the screams of the dying children on the surface.

Before she died, her mother told her that there is a lost city of leylines hidden deep in the city of Waterdeep. As long as you find the Walking Temple, many drow who are eager to return to the surface can be saved.

Therefore, deep in her heart, she has always hidden a dream of going to the surface for adventure.

Santilla quickly came back to her senses and began to think about why Hydraf Pumol wanted to see her now?

She had not heard from him for three years.

Though his servants would pay the Tuxes family support and education from time to time, and make sure her pockets were always full during her occasional visits to the market.

But in Santilla's view, this kind of private meeting can only mean trouble.

But what did she do?
Or, more precisely, had her troubled behavior been discovered and reported again?
She began to seriously think about what deviant behavior she had done recently, which priestess of Rose had been provoked by the prank spell, so that he could only get it done by himself.

Then she thought of a new possibility.

After the blood sacrifice, she will become a true drow.

Maybe he thought she was worth noting.

So she raised her head casually and looked at him.

He looked just as he remembered, an old drow male, his pupils so strangely pale and almost indescribably disturbing to look at.

In Santilla's impression, his lifespan exceeded ten centuries.

It is said that, as the chief archmage, he watched his family perish without doing anything.

She was convinced of this.

Because he killed her mother himself in order to get her out of the Tux family.

"We meet again."

The Chief Archmage's voice was so soft that she had to be quiet to listen.

"indeed."

Santilla replied playfully, "It's just that your way of meeting is still so unique. Sometimes I also wonder if you often worried about your mistress when you were young, so your appearance is always so exciting. Caught off guard."

She stared intently into his eyes and, to her disappointment, couldn't see anything.

"Save these words to the guards at the temptation gate."

The Archmage said calmly, "As you can imagine, I am here for your blood sacrifice. Now, I will stay here until the ceremony begins, because you have too much to learn, and the time for preparation is too long. Too short."

"I've been preparing all the time, and I have plenty of time." She suppressed the resentment in her heart and said coldly.

"Innocent child, becoming a drow is much more than participating in a barbaric massacre."

The Archmage said gloomily, "If I'm right, Jonara Tucks must be good at it."

Santilla heard the meaningful words, and she didn't want to face this reality.

She couldn't believe that Aunt Joanara would betray her.

The magical godmother raised her, giving her the kind of care and pampering most young drow never dreamed of.

In addition to her biological mother, she not only gave her life, but also gave her ten years of warmth, security and even love.

It was Aunt Jonara's connivance that made her the most free and unfettered drow in Ancient Orens City.

"You are doubting my judgment."

There was a hint of coldness in the archmage's calm eyes, "You don't really think that it is a great adventure, do you. Very good, I am starting to despair of your judgment."

"So?" Santilla said almost desperately.

If it was really what he said, then she didn't dare to think about that battle mage from the Kingdom of Cormyr any longer.

"Stupid boy, I don't want you to get hurt in any way."

The archmage raised his eyelids, looked carefully at his daughter with a disappointed face, and said gently:
"I'll send you a magic item that will allow you to kill your prey with ease, thus fulfilling the literal requirements of the ritual. After all, you never valued Rose's eighth leg, did you? "

(End of this chapter)