Capítulo 161: Sand Elves
The sky now an orange canopy, the party's carriage made haste, hoping to arrive at the town city Havandir before nightfall. Now nearing the Deserts of Warija, its arid surroundings held little greenery.
"Let me get this straight, you and your sisters fell for each other, and now you two are following their footsteps?" The wood-elf questioned, occupying the seat that should have been Althea's which was right next to Yazmin.
"We do not follow, we walk our own path." Alara boldly declared. Having now formed a family, what their sisters have was indeed worthy of praise. Alara intended for her and Maessha to have a such romance that they could call their own. Alara grasped Maessha's hand, affirming the dark elf's conviction. And of course, Maessha clasped back.
"We have nothing but utmost respect for our sisters but the love we have for each other are just as strong, but not similar to theirs. One solely our own." Maessha explained with a smile on her face. Upset not in the slightest, but similar to her lover, would love to make a point.
Marrione raised both hands in surrender, "I was just surprised, is all. Fate works in mysterious ways. First, your sisters, and now you both."
"Fate does indeed, I tried to claim my Althea's head, only for me to fall hopelessly in love with her." The Gorgon chimed in. "I think it was around the time I was tasked by my previous Guild to ensure Antani's death."
An air of total silence pervaded the carriage. Yazmin had been too comfortable with her new party members that she shared what her mission was the day she met the love of her life. Of course, the fact that she is now in good terms with her sister did not fail to elude Alara but she knew little on how to receive this Gorgon's revelation.
Yazmin broke the silence, "As you can see, I failed my task and now transferred to Elaria's guild."
From the corner of Alara's vision, she witnessed a run down wagon carrying hay, an woman wearing ragged farm hand clothes trying to replace the broken wheel. Her complexion deep brown, similar to a stronger shade of copper. The long and pointy ears gave her identity away, desert or sand elves as they are usually called.
Far too frail to lift the wagon on her own, the elf woman carried the wheel far too heavy for her stature. She wiped the sweat from her brow, swaying her short golden hair.
The difficulty the elf was going through would surely inspire others to help. After all, it is well within us to lend a hand to those who are doing their best despite the struggle. Much like how it stirred Alara's heart.
"Stop the wagon, there's an elf that needs our help."
As quickly as Alara stood, the Gorgon rose, urging her to remain seated.
"No. Do you not find it odd how she has no one else with her? The outskirts of Havardin is known for its peril, be it monsters or outlaws."
"Are you saying that she's just pretending!? Look at her, she's struggling to put on the wheel, surely that effort is no deception!"
"And that is exactly what makes it believable. Do not fall for this woman's trap." Yazmin assured.
Aiding to the Gorgon's explanation was the wood elf.
"I am against speaking ill of my other kin, but sand elves are not known for their virtue. Originally wood elves, they became nomads when they splintered from us, roaming in these deserts where fauna refuse to flourish. They lie, cheat, and steal, be it your clothes or your food. They pillage other desert tribes, taking their women and children, assimilating them into their own. The men, they sell as slaves to the rune mines."
Marionne glanced at the Dark elf while he continued his explaination.
"Not all of them are like that but the majority of them are, enough to give them a bad wrap."
"Much like how me and my sister are exceptions to the Dark elf's cruelty?" Maessha smiled.
"Offending was not my intention."
"I take none." The fact that Maessha wore a smile meant she accepted their race's vile reputation, one she will not hide from for she was their princess. "I have long dreamt to change our ways but it is impossible as long we worship our patron Goddess."
The Dark elves bask in sadism while these Sand elves venerate vice. They might mirror each other but Lolth's influence guides the Dark elf's cruelties, the wickedness they commit are done to appease Lolth. But these Desert Elves, they are wild and free. Spurned by Sylvan, they worship none, no malevolent Goddess binds them.
"Then we will simply pass the woman by, what if she is like Maessha!?" A last ditch effort for Alara to convince them, she raised her voice.
"Alara, I am an assassin by trade, a trade mired in deception. Her build does not exude frailty, that Sand elf is pretending. You have to trust me on this."
Still restless, Alara sighed. She can very much handle it even if was an ambush, it was just that she'd rather not put Maessha. They are still about to head deep into the heart of Warija's deserts, its inhabitants gigantic and fearsome, best reserve all the dangers until then.
"I shall trust you on this." Alara gave up, seeking Maessha's hand for comfort, hoping they simply did not just abandon an innocent woman by the road side.
Another familiar set of galloping footsteps that did not belong to the carriage's horses closed in on their window. It was Telmano's.
"Hey, I'm guessing you all did not notice the woman that needed help. I'm going to go back and help her real quick, can you tell the halfling driver to slow down so I can catch up once I'm done?"
"Telmano, don't!"
Marrione tried to stop his friend but he ignored his shout, deigning it to be something unimportant. After all, how could the centaur have guessed that he was about to be warned about the dangers of being a good Samaritan?
++++
The hunk of a Centaur a approached the Sand elf.
"What seems to be the problem, miss?"
The Sand Elve's face lit up, like a blessing had descended from above in the form of a Centaur.
"Oh, thank the heavens you stopped by! Was hopin' you could help me attach this wheel, I best be on my way to Havardin before nighttime! Believe me, a lady like me don't want to risk traveling the road when the sun is down!"
Her accent, a southerner's jolliness despite her downtrodden situation.
"Leave this to me then, the name's Telmano, by the way."
The Sand elf stood aside as the Centaur carried the wheel without exerting effort whatsoever. Now on all fours, Telmano kneeled to work on the wagon.
"Mighty kind of you to help a lady in need. Call me Eysel." From behind the Centaur, Eysel introduced herself, watching the Telmano attach the wheel. "So what's your story, friend Telmano? Never seen you around these parts before."
"We're well on our way to Warija, off to save the life of our friend, you see." Their noble endeavor puts a smile on Telmano's face as he worked the wheel.
"Aww shucks, I almost feel bad keeping you here since you might be in a hurry!"
"This won't take long, I can attach it back with ease since this wheel looks like it came right off. Huh, strange."
"That's because it did, Telmano, sweetheart."
"What...?"
Suddenly, something metallic pressed upon Telmano's forehead, followed by a foreboding click. From the hay, a hand holding a flintlock pistol emerged.
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