The baker's wife was indignant as she accepted her shoe from Wynessa's hands and immediately threw it into the fireplace. Shoes were expensive enough as it was, but it was obvious from the look of their home this family had little to spare.
"Madam, why did you-"
"Because that witch touched it! I won't have anything of his sort in this house.You had best go wash yourself thoroughly if you don't want to have any of his witchy-ness get on you." The woman practically pushed her out the door of the small house and shoved a stale loaf of bread into her hands. "Here, for your trouble."
The blackened burnt misshapen bread in her hands was difficult to break with a stone let alone her teeth, so she offered it instead to an ogre by the gate of the Occupying camp. He accepted it gladly and crunched eagerly into the dark loaf before chuckling dumbly and bragging to his compatriot about the bread.
Before heading to the tent, she detoured towards an old tower that was obviously out of use and built for humans and elves. At first the door did not want to budge, the old wood having swollen and settled in the frame, but a few solid slams with her shoulder made the creaking hinges whine as she was finally allowed in. The rooms inside were dusty and neglected and looked like they had been for the better part of the war. Even through all the dust and grime and animals that skittered away from her movement, it was clear to see this had once been a garrison for the defending forces. Old weapons that were beyond useless, armour that was equally dull and lifeless, and something she assumed was once alchemicals but was now simply a charred stain and a melted bookcase.
She sifted through what she could easily find until she found a rucksack that seemed decently sound and still flexible enough to hold anything else she found that might be useful to them. As she sorted through the shelves and chests that remained, she stumbled into another doorway, though this one was rotted through and fell completely apart as she accidentally leaned on it.
The room behind had been previously undisturbed, but as Wynessa turned and looked around, she realised this must have been the quarters of the captain of the garrison.
And the skeleton sitting at the desk must have been the captain himself. She shuddered as she moved around the room, noting how there were no signs of a struggle so far as she could tell and the cause of death appeared to be a bottle in the hand that now rested on the floor, having apparently fallen off the rest of the body at some point.
Resting on the desk was a letter, signed and sealed with the ring still resting in the wax. Carefully, she detached the ring and pocketed it before trying to see who the letter was written to. All she could make out on the backing was "Royal Highness" before she jumped, eyes wide at what she had found. Cautiously, she made sure to place the letter in the deep pockets of her dress before looking through the drawers of the desk.
After moving the skeletal remains of the previous captain, she said a quick prayer for his soul before pulling open the heavy drawers one at a time. The central drawer opened easily and contained a large number of letters with broken seals, many of which seemed to be addressed to "Captain Hortish" which she assumed was the pile of bones behind her. As she shuffled the papers about, a small key caught her eye next to a flattened leather pouch. Setting both the key and the pouch on the desk, she glanced through the rest of the drawer before closing it and opening the pouch. A small box reminiscent of a jewelry box was tucked within next to a drawing that was assuredly drawn by a child. She set the picture aside and opened the box carefully, though her eyes grew wide at the contents.
Crystals and gemstones shone brightly from within and a silver necklace wrapped lazily around them. Pocketing the entire box, she set about finding out where the key went to, though it was far too short to open the remaining drawers, all of which were unlocked anyways. Each of the sides only contained writing materials and a small vial of emerald liquid that had long gone dry, so she turned her attention to the rest of the room holding the key in hand.
Near the bed was a nightstand with a small cabinet built in, but this was also unlocked. The bottles of alcohol within spoke volumes to the habits of this Captain Hortish, though almost all of them were still sealed with wax and full. Sighing, Wynessa decided it best to pull them out and check the rest of the shelves for anything of any significance, but the debate to bring the bottles with her was much too strong, so she set the darkest of them aside and opted to take them with her back to the tent.
Unable to find where the small iron key led to, she took one last look around and decided to try the old captain's wardrobe just in case there was something of value hiding there. After all, it's not like anyone had missed it for this long. There would be no harm in her taking what they would need, right?
The wardrobe opened after some coaxing and showered her with dust until she was coughing and sneezing a fit for a good few minutes. By the time her watering eyes allowed her to see what was within, she gasped softly. Unsure of how, she looked on at pristine clothing that was untarnished, unaged, and soft to the touch. She pulled the rucksack to her and began carefully folding articles of clothing that would fit her into the pack, finally pulling a deep red dress from where it hung and looking over it.
The stitching was more fine and more delicate than she had ever seen, let alone worn. The wine red colour was still so vibrant even after all these years, she was unsure what lady friend the captain had previously had, but she was sure to make good use of such a beautiful garment. Carefully folding it and setting it in the bag, she found she could easily wrap some of the remaining clothes around the bottles she had chosen to keep and still have some room in the pack.
Satisfied with what she had found, she hoisted it onto her back and made to leave the tower before she accidentally kicked something solid. She hissed in pain as she held her foot and determined to look around for more durable shoes before heading back to the tent.
It was mid afternoon before Miklian returned from the forest, and when he returned to the tent he saw the pack of things Wynessa had bought and was readying for their departure the next morning. Standing by the door flaps, he waited for her to pause or speak to him before he spoke. After a moment, she turned and stood with her arms crossed.
"What is it?"
"We should bring the elf with us." He stood quietly, waiting for the explosion.
"Why?" She quietly asked, unsure where in the world he had gotten this idea.
"He's hated by the town, they'll kill him even if it's illegal. I also think he might maybe be of some use to us. Possibly." The giant stood as though he were asking permission for something he knew was wrong, shoulders forward, chin tucked, eyes not meeting hers, though his hands were clasped behind his back.
Wynessa returned to packing what belongings they had into the pack until it was easy to tell she would not be able to carry it on her own. As she moved around the tent, she thought it over, eventually pointing to a chair.
"Fine, but he has to carry his own stuff and I'm not going to allow you to pay for his lifestyle. His clothes are much too fine for this area, so he's used to a higher life than this town can offer. Why did he come here to begin with?" She mused as he moved to sit where she told him to.
"He came back because his sister needed him when her husband died, but the city he had lived in was destroyed by a warlock while he was gone. He's been here about a year."
"I see you became friends rather quickly. Does he know what happens at the top of the mountain? Does he know who your mother is?" She spoke quickly, keeping her volume down as to not offend any passers by, but the questions cut sharply.
"He does not. At least, I don't think he does. We can ask." Miklian watched her move around the tent, collecting what she could and trying to busy herself before a voice called from outside the tent inviting the pair to dine with the captain of the camp.
Glancing at each other, it was as though their personalities shifted as he stood proudly, a captain and son of the general, and she adopted the meek demeanour of a slave caring for her master.