“I think age is starting to get to me,” she muttered. She began to clear space on her bench, running her hand over the knicks and cuts on her board, brandishing a knife.

“What shall we have for dinner tonight, Winslow?” She looked over to her bed stand, a large wooden owl staring at her in silence, “Good idea, the rabbit needed to be used.”

Reaching into her cupboards, she pulled out a fresh rabbit and set to work skinning and gutting with speed and precision. She began to sing to herself a solemn tune, the wind singing along with her while she picked a white lily from her bench and tucked it behind her pointed ear.

“I think, Winslow, we could use more vegetables,” The elf said softly. She opened the door and walked into a massive hooded figure standing right at the door, yelping as she fell on her backside.

She looked up to see emerald eyes so impossibly green staring down at her, pupils like slits. Like a beast.

“Well that is the fastest a woman has ever fallen for me. Sorry, I’m usually a lot smoother,” the figure began, her voice soft and sweet like honey, “You would be Shandalar, yes? I didn’t mean to scare you, I only require your assistance.”

The elf sat in shock and awe for a moment, until she realized she was staring in silence, a stern look cast upon her face. “It’s late, come back tomorrow.”

The figure revealed from their cloak, a reptilian claw, covered in crimson scales, and offered her hand. “If it is all the same to you my friend, I may be dead by then, so I’m in dire need of assistance,” She opened her cloak, revealing leathery armour, blood seeping from a hole in her side.

Without taking the claw, the stern elf got herself up and grunted, “Sit on the bed. Now.”

The cloaked woman bent down under the door frame, sitting down with a certain elegance on the bed, despite her wounds.

“Magic or blade?” Shandalar said flatly, searching her shelves with haste, before grabbing a jar of green paste and a vial of blue slime, hurrying back over to the bed.

“Both I’m afraid, my attacker had an enchanted weapon. I’ve been bleeding for hours and it won’t stop.”

The elf said nothing, digging cloth from her pocket. The cloth was so white it almost glowed in the darkening hut.

“Need you to strip. Don’t worry I’ve seen it all before.”

The figure nodded, unclasping her cloak, revealing lustrous locks of red hair, the elf paused in awe for a moment, telling herself off for getting so distracted. The mysterious woman removed her armour, her midriff pure and unblemished, sides flanked with crimson scales up to her neck. Her stomach had a large gaping wound, flowing with blood.

The healer went to work, inspecting the wound with a furrowed brow. She dabbed the wound clearing some of the blood, more pouring out immediately. “Goddesses, you should be dead.”

The figure looking pale, barely conscious, shrugged.

“I will be fine. I just need a caring touch and all will be well,” the giant woman spoke softly, a hint of pain in her words.

Shandalar looked puzzled, there was no way this woman could be sitting in front of her, but she wasn’t going to pry, she thought to herself. Everyone had their secrets, and she simply wanted to do her job well.

The elf handed the figure a wooden rod. “Bite on this, you’ll need it.”

The figure let out an enchanting laugh, “I don’t need it, I’ve had worse.”

Shandalar rolled her eyes, “Stubborn child. Fine.”

She went to work, dipping her white cloth in water, began rubbing the wound, an unnatural steam hissing from it. The woman grit her teeth, her eyes squeezing shut till the steam relented.

“Hmpf, that should be the enchantment gone. What’s your name, child?” The elf asked without looking up at the woman.

“Bael, is what the few who know me would call me.”

The woman's voice was weaker than before, her eyes glazing over slightly, “I’ve heard the elves were excellent healers, and I’ve heard you are even talented amongst your kind.”

Shandalar paused for a moment, how did this stranger know of her.

“Not to mention your people have the most interesting stories.” Bael continued, “And so far, you have been a fantastic conversation partner.”

“I’ve not said much, no need to mock, especially when I’m tending to you.” Shandalar growled.

“I’m not mocking,” Bael giggled, “Not all stories are told with words.”

Shandalar knelt beside the figure, uncorking the vial, and pouring the blue slime into the wound. Bael let out a guttural growl, beastial, unnatural. She sat back and let the elf continue, noticing the gentle touch of her rough hands. The elf began wrapping bandages around Bael’s torso, pinning it.

Shandalar could feel curiosity eating away at her, and despite mental protests she asked, “If you don’t mind me asking, what did you do to earn a cursed wound?”

Bael grinned, “Interested are we? Well, if I do tell such a tale, you must promise not to kick me out until I have explained myself.”

Shandalar nodded, listening intently.

Bael smirked, “I am a necromancer.” She could see the shock on the elf’s face, but continued, “Do not worry, I do it rather ethically. I ask the spirits if they will help me first. I never use a body that I haven’t asked for. But due to it being slightly illegal, I had a Magus sent after me.”

Shandalar gasped, “How did you survive a Magus?”

Bael flashed a smile, radiating so much charisma that Shandalar couldn't process it.

“Well I nearly didn’t, if the most beautiful elf I had ever seen hadn’t come to my rescue!” The elf scowled in return.

Shandalar crossed her arms, sitting back in her chair, “You are far too young for me.”

“I’m a little older than I look, and I didn’t just survive, he was… taken care of,” Bael sat back, crossing her scaled legs, “But they come every so often, as the Emperor insists on being a thorn in my side.”

Bael’s eyes were ablaze with passion, as if pouring her soul into her story. Shandalar gripping onto every single word from this radiant woman, every word like a feast for the soul.

“So after dealing with the automatons, nasty business, only the Magus was left, unto which, he is now at rest.

After sitting in silence for a moment, Shandalar nodded and finally responded, “Quite a tale, if true.”

“I promise I only embellished some parts, but it is my aim to entertain. I am no liar,” Bael responded coyly.

They sat quietly for a while, the only sound being the licks of the hearth. Bael was first to break the silence, digging through her satchel, “How much do I owe you, my hero?”

Shandlar frowned and shook her head with her hand held up.

“I don’t need gold and you're not leaving. You’ll tear the wound open and make my work pointless. Sleep in my bed tonight.” Shandalar tucked a strand of jet black hair behind her pointed ear.

Bael sighed with relief and collapsed onto the bed, her bulk making the bed sound like it was about to give.

“I’m a tad more tired than I look, Thank you, my hero.” Falling asleep immediately.