Heleion Archives

11^th of December, 245^th of NDE. The Chortai Snowlands of the Noyachny Heimrad.

            A wild storm raged on the shadowy snow covered lands where the excessive dacha of the Nokoi Family rested surrounded by the luminous forest which lit the surroundings in an eerie light even during the darkest nights.

The large Nokoi Dacha exuded an air of refined tranquility even amongst the umbral stones which sprouted forth from the snow blanketed ground, bathing the mansion in their pulsing glow. A vast wall surrounded the two-floored mansion of convex rooftops, within them sprawling grounds adorned with lush ethereal gardens where strange plants from Eoran blossomed even during the harsh winter of the Basin, the lawns manicured carefully and by the most experienced hands as the Nokoi Family could easily pay for the best thanks to their deathly trade.

In the same vein, the protection of the dacha itself fell onto not some mercenaries who held no loyalty to them – but to fat coffers – but to the Dusk Weaver Corps of the Black Rose Order who maintained order and peace in the region. Though the choice also fell at them partly because they maintained good relations with Hersith Kataryne.

Most of the magicraft weapons the Dusk Weaver Corps used for maintaining the peace of the heimrad, for cracking down on the rebellious elements within the heimrad for the past century since the escape of one certain prisoner who believed the time for radical change had to come for not just the region, but for the whole world. But that was the tale for the future.

**

“I guess we’re stuck here for the week.” Cvijeari said after her Superior Sister’s disembodied voice informed all of them within the dacha that the storm will not abate.

Cvijeari herself was an umbrith – or umbral elf – of haunting beauty, which were true for all her kin. A perfectly smooth, porcelain white skin which gave her mature elven face a doll like look, voluminous hair as dark as the starless night sky that naturally flowed down on one side of her shoulder merging into her dark, sleek uniform. A tenderly chiseled nose with refined bridge and a dainty lower part, wide, menacing eyes occupied by deep shadows and two slit pearls of shimmering crimson. Her dark lips, soft and condensed to the center, gleaming intensely even in the embrace of hard shadows.

Her delicate, flexible body was encased in the previously highlighted sleek and dark uniform of the Dusk Weaver Corp – which were made from arcanely manufactured arachnoid hide and an alchemical concoction which included the highly coveted ink of deep ocean krakens, the ichor of large deep land spiders, and the nectar of certain carnivorous plants of the Deep Lands.

The end result was the Mundurria Type-III Bodysuit which wrapped around her form in an eerie mosaic of angular straps. Above her chest though the piece stopped existing similarly to certain dresses, where the Uchwytiir Leather Blouse continued draping her porcelain white body with an added strap on the shoulders, and large triangular collars which stood in arched discipline while their elongated tips fled downwards to her ample breasts.

Atop her head a beret that matched the snow silvery frames of her bodysuit and blouse flattened her dark hair while softly rounded shield of mixed dark and snow silvery alloy attached to her chest while two patches were sewn onto her blouse sleeves top.

“Eh, it could be worse. We could be out there hunting for rebels or worse.” Joverin – her senior dark elven Sister with a luxuriant, burgundy lob paired with blunt fringes – added after she took the tea from one of the maids and thanked her. Her crimson eyes followed the maid dressed in richly silver dress with mauve black frills and collars which tightened onto the shoulders and paired with a similarly hued large bow tie.

Cvijeari stared down at Joverin whose supple dark mauve lips pressed together without a single crease as she softly whistled. “That is exactly where I wish I’d be.”

“Trust me, that is not as exciting as you think it to be. For the most part manhunts consist 90% of searching and 10% battle which is not always guaranteed.” Joverin said as her long, sharp ears easily heard the whisper of her junior Sister. “Plus, those bastards are crazy enough to track through this storm and try infiltrating the dacha.” She added as she noticed Cvijeari’s sour expression.

Before she could retort though, Joverin turned away while gulping down the last of her tea, zipping down her blouse as she headed towards the beckoning naurdian maid with dark brunette hair kept in an elegant high bun. “See you at breakfast.” She said with a wide, yet still enchanting grin on her face as Cvijeari sighed.

As she turned around to continue her patrol route on the first floor, she missed as a second maid appeared out of thin air and clasped her white glowed hand over Joverin’s mouth, muting her surprised yelp while the other swiftly grabbed her by the wrists and secured it with mana ties. And by the point she entered the trophy room, the tearing of silver sealing tape became inaudible to her.

**

The door closed with a soft click behind her and she made small steps – hoping the slower she goes, the shorter the time spent in the dacha will seem. While the whitish light from the lamps lit the large trophy room of the western wing, the stuffed beasts hunted by the heads of the Nokoi family cast their menacing shadow onto her slender form.

First, she stopped and looked out the gridded glass doors, and noticed Nyuque, a fellow umbrith – and former roommate of hers – blessed with murky dark silken hair bundled into a high tail which flowed down graciously, and a fringe swept over her left deep purple eye. The two seemingly locked their gazes then continued with their patrol after a distant salute.

When she turned back, she glared into the watery, still eyes of an enormous bear with luxuriant mauve and black fur, teeth with a pristine white hue that seemed artificial and its two paws held high ready to maul Cvijeari to pieces. Yet it never came as the carcass was frozen in time by spells that prevented its natural decay.

She repeated the same pattern of walking slowly to the next stuffed beast – a towering ogre with a fur of myriad exotic shades clearly imported from the southern hemisphere of Heleion. Its monstrous ape-like face frozen in a contorting grimace while its clawed hands still held the weapon which proved useless against the wit and magicraft weaponry of its hunters.

Here too, she glanced at Nyuque who stopped at a statue of the Nokoi’s ancestor wrapped in the luminous dark vines of some kind of Deep Land plant that may once had a mind of its own. After a nod, Cvijeari turned back to the stuffed ogre and envisioned a battle in the jungles of Southern Eoran – she read so much about in books during her academical years – while Nyuque glared at the Deep Land plant which uncanny petals glowed in a crimson and violet hue during the night.

They repeated this many times until Cvijeari – now with a faint smile – turned towards the doorless side of the trophy room. For a moment, she wanted to just turn back and continue in reverse, but decided against it. Which made her miss the shadows wrap around Nyuque and dragged her out of sight while a tendril of fluid shadow covered her mouth, negating any sound that may have left it at that moment.

By the time Cvijeari reached the other hand somewhat hurriedly, she concluded that Nyuque must have arrived to a point where she was veiled by the imposing, opposite wing of the dacha. With a sigh, she headed out of the trophy room.

**

Not long after she stepped back into the straight hallway, she became aware of footsteps rushing towards her. “Finally. Where is Joverin?” Bognitra – the dark elven Superior Sister with long, slicked back dark hair and strict, crimson golden eyes – called out to Cvijeari who sprung into a disciplined stature.

“She…” She stopped for a moment, but at the piercing gaze of Bognitra continued. “She went away with the brunette maid. Have we been infiltrated?” At those words, Bognitra arched her thin eyebrow.

Without saying it, she nodded then looked pensive for a moment. “Search for her and if captured free her. I’ll guard Yzmer.”

“I’ll go look for her.” She said with a firm tone, saluting to the back of Bognitra then head to the kitchen that was located not far from the trophy room – once again missing as the brunette maid appeared behind Bognitra. With a swift strike to the neck, the Superior Sister of hers slumped into the arms of the elegant assailant who swiftly dragged her away through a portal just as Cvijeari entered the kitchen.

Inside she reached for her Polkorovo-44 wand pistol – named after Polkov Nokoi, the previous head of the family – resting in the holster attached to her hip belt. A small, fully metallic magicraft weapon engraved with dark elven runes that gave off a sinister, purple tinted glow near the elongated funnel-barrel. Inside the kitchen lit only by the moonlight gave off a sinister atmosphere.

She slowly walked between the counters littered with barely cleaned off plates, glasses and headed straight for the cellar. Stepping down, her eyes easily saw through the thick darkness that shrouded the cellar reaching far towards the wall separating the dacha from the forest. A single window stood its ground against the raging storm, snow melted down below it.

Which itself continued towards two barrels placed neatly besides the bricked wall. Cvijeari carefully walked where the wet footsteps ceased to exist, and opened up the barrel. Inside she stared into the empty, lifeless eyes of a half-elven maid with her pale skin on her neck still reddened. She tapped her left temple and tried to inform Bognitra, but no answer came back and as she extended her detection to encompass the whole wing, she became aware of the unmoving presences near her location.

She exhaled as her body burned with excitement, and left the corpse filled barrel open as she headed out from the kitchen, her next destination the guest room adjacent to the dining room.

As she walked through the hallway once more, her eyes looked forward, and waited for small movements in the corners, while through her detection, she waited for the weak presence of mana residue created upon casting, or even just the faintest of creaks made by careful steps on the wooden floor. Yet none of this came to be as she reached the door where Joverin entered with the brunette maid.

Before she stepped inside, she closed her left eye and a ghastly pupil of solid shadows appeared on the ceiling. She looked around in the room and with each well-folded sheet, cleaned table with ornaments and goblets in place, the bed’s silken blanket perfectly stretching without a single crease or wrinkle, she confirmed that Joverin was the presence she felt somewhere inside the room.

Within the room itself, her first – and last – destination was the vast cabinet section built into the wall. She put her wand pistol back into the holster, and opened it swiftly. Inside she was greeted by the unconscious and tightly bound and sealing tape gagged Joverin leaning back to back with another dark elven Sister of theirs, with both emitting soft muffled grunts.

The moment she felt victorious quickly came to its end when she felt a tingling sensation a bit above her nape, in the vast dark jungle of her hair. As she tapped around, she pulled out a thin needle. “Damn you pervert.” Then collapsed down as her crimson pupils retreated up into her head.

“Am I a pervert?” The brunette maid said with a pensive look while she ripped open the roll of silver sealing tape. “Probably.” The half-dark elven comrade of her said as she quickly went to relieve Cvijeari of her possessions while the brunette sat on Cvijeari’s chest and while she leaned closer to her face, pressing the wide strip she tore off against the dark lips and white cheeks of the umbrith Dusk Weaver.