Claws and Feathers

I returned home late that evening after training. Tethir was determined that I should acquire a good technique with my father's sword, so he drilled me relentlessly in a clearing by the stream for hours at a time. I found Agroth in the kitchen, musing over a large book with a cup of tea held between his gnarled fingers. He looked up at me as I entered, sweaty and bruised. The corners of his mouth curled into a weak smile and his eyes crinkled affectionately. 'Where are they?' I asked. He pointed at the door to his back with a thumb and resumed his reading. I dumped my bag and the sword beside the entrance and, in three steps, covered the distance to the back door, which led to Agroth's little garden.

I found Elion and Zoe whispering to each other, cross-legged on the ground amongst the bellflowers. I immediately knew I had walked in on something. Zoe had her back on Elion's chest and they had both turned their heads hastily towards the door as they heard me coming. Elion was looking guilty and my sister had turned scarlet. 'Well?' she said scathingly, 'What do you want?' I suppose I was a bit dazed. I mean, it's not as if I hadn't noticed before that there was something going on between them, but somehow I had dismissed the idea, as If I didn't really believe my sister could feel anything. Thinking back on it I felt quite stupid. 'I, er... nothing. Just wanted to check you were home. I'll go upstairs now.' Elion got up and brushed the grass from his trousers 'Yes, we'd better go and help Agroth.' Zoe, still on the ground, had turned from looking embarrassed to looking angry. 'No, Elion. Stay. Matt was already leaving.' He hesitated, looking from Zoe to the house, avoiding my gaze altogether. I quickly turned back towards the kitchen door. Elion must've followed, because Zoe was straightening up and shouting after us. 'You had to barge in and kill it, didn't you Matt!' I turned, annoyed that I'd gotten messed up in her problems. Suddenly I realised I was angry too. The subconscious thoughts I had been avoiding about her relationship with Elion rushed forward in a chaotic torrent. 'I couldn't care less what you do, Zoe. Don't take it out on me it's never going to work out. It's not my fault he's four times your age.' Admittedly, the elf didn't look about to turn eighty, not by my mortal standards anyway. Nevertheless, I had touched a nerve. That was the thing that had been gnawing at Zoe's insides ever since we had arrived at the elven capital.

Alchemy

Sherbert looked around for a full minute before opening the crooked oak door. He pretended to be a blind man twice when guards bearing halberds marched past him on their way to the walls. It simply would not do to have someone discover the entrance. He stooped his already bent back beneath the threshold, and barred the door behind him with a wooden beam. With his brand new oil lamp in his left hand, and a handful of parchments in the right, he descended into the dank cavern.

Sounds and smells came up to meet him, wondrous and foul alike. The experience would have been quite disturbing, but Sherbert was used to it. He adored it. As always, when descending into his sanctum, the wizened man felt at peace with the world.

He cast his frayed robes aside and stepped into a white lab coat. Then he looked up at his electric bulbs longingly. It had taken him three years to acquire all of them, but he still had no idea how he was going to get hold of a switch to make them work. Thus, he walked around his tidy workshop, lighting the torches in their sconces. He then set the lamp on the big bench, and bent over to examine a large transparent tank, not unlike a fishbowl. A clear mauve liquid dripped from a distiller into the bowl. Otherwise it was unremarkable. Sherbert looked disappointed. He continued methodically along the bench to the next container. This one was a dull brass colour, and bore four runes on its side. A simmering brown fluid bubbled in its interior. Again, Sherbert sighed and moved on. He stopped before a plain pweter box standing on four legs, two pipes protruding from its bottom. Grey gas swirled inside the box, and heady coloured vapours wafted from it's depths. The old man's insides gave a violent lurch. He felt butterflies fluttering inside his stomach. Giddy with excitement, he knocked over a jar full of coins, which burst into flames as they collided with the table, scorching the surface of his workbench. He didn't care. Nothing mattered more than the contents of his small pweter box.

The Huntress

Stealth darted after her quarry. She sped past an apartment block and turned into a narrow alley. From under her hood, she heard a blade whistling through the air towards her. There was a soft rustle and a twang. Her prey crumpled, lifeless, to the ground. Stealth placed her hand upon the dead man's chest, and the body condensed into a shimmering white orb. She picked it up and flung it down the street. It bounced off the pavement once and then shot through the air towards it's former master, Stealth in close pursuit.

She followed the ball, running flat-out for twenty seconds, before it came to a sudden halt in the middle of a busy square. People where bustling around, oblivious to the sphere that had just flown right through them. Stealth paused behind a corner, scanning the square with a frown. Then she saw him, purple tunic billowing in his stride as he marched toward the ethereal globe. Some people winced slightly when he stepped into them, most didn't notice at all.

Stealth bit her lip. She couldn't aim through the throng. But she didn't have to. He had picked up the sphere and was holding it high. It contracted to the size of a pinhead, held it's shape for a moment, and disintegrated in his hand, causing palish blue ripples to spread out through the plaza. When it was over, the people had vanished in light clouds, and the buildings around them seemed a century older.