Chapter 2 - The Hunt For Treasure

Deep in the narrow caverns of the underground ruins of what once was a thriving city of magic, is now an abandoned vessel of its former glory. Marble statues of great scholars unbeknownst to the entire world beyond its crumbling walls lie astray on the cracked cobblestone floor, far from their upstanding pedestals. Arrow-shot towers that used to graze the clouds were now splintered hilts buried in dirt. Withering black lines of what looked to be the spindly limbs of greenery were now just mere cracks that clung to the remains of grand structures that were reduced to jagged chunks of paeastones and debris.

Halgar held the torch in front of him, coloring his bronze complexion in an orange hue. The flames from the wood and cloth danced across his dark eyes from the flick of his hand. Then, it steadied itself again.

"I'm'a blow it out for now," he whispers to his hooded companion that fell back a couple of steps behind his slouching form.

No answer.

𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘰𝘥𝘥, he thought to himself, not used to the silence of his loud traveling partner. "Nami?" he calls out to her, glancing at her direction.

Silence ensues the brief echo of his voice. Her presence had completely vanished from his sight. Knowing his best friend for over a decade, they've trained together, fought together, and slept together--though not in that context--he could read her moods quite well. She was still angry at Halgar's evaluation of her skill sets from moments ago when they finally reached the opening to the hidden utopia that they were assigned to ransack.

𝘞𝘦𝘭𝘭—𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘤𝘬.

Of course they were going to loot for anything valuable that had not yet been taken from the abandoned city. But the request for their service had been to track down a specific urn that belonged to a magician that had long since seen better days from its potted tomb. Halgar didn't even blink an eye to the request from the noble scholar, since he'd been assigned to tasks that were way more bizarre than grave robbery. Namiah, however, being the more religious between the two, had some objections which were only placated by the enormous amount of darios that the stout nobleman had dropped on their favourite dealing table near the bar of their guild.

Guess the term that "money can't buy you happiness" only took effect to those who were more fortunate.

The journey to the hidden city hadn't been kind on either of them, having to travel through the toughest winter of Rosavall and finding themselves digging further into dead ends. The map that the scholar had given them wasn't entirely accurate or more like refusing to permit any entry to any seekers who sought out the exact location of the paradise of stingy old Archmages. There seemed to be an enchantment that protected its whereabouts from uninvited visitors, something that irritated the young lad greatly.

Having Namiah around had made things slightly easier for any run-ins that involved magic. Afterall, she is born with elfin blood and half a descendant from Ivyné's disciples. If anyone knew about her lineage, they would've thought that she'd end up with the corrupted. It might have been the blessed heritage as a disciple of an Old Goddess that had saved her from that fate or it might just be random luck at birth.

Halgar never really paid attention to it, considering that he was just a lowly street rat when he met her.

Oh, how time flies.

Now they were pass their juvenile stage, but it seems their mentality still has much room for growth. Annoyed that his halfling companion is delaying their task further by one of her "fits", the lad only continues his trek up the sloping path of the city after extinguishing the ball of flame at the tip of his torch.

Paeastones were highly valuable ores once upon a time, when the world was still figuring out how to fend off the dark without the fickle light of fires. They're still valuable now and it's mostly noblemen who could afford such luxury of never ending lights for their gardens, statues, and jewelry. The paeastones that still stand in this city has proven to endure through the darkness of its grave for centuries, but its luster has gone far too dull to hold any value in the market.

The crumbling city had only this light to prove of its magical existence and Halgar didn't think of it to be kind to take some of that away as well. His cautious steps became wide and purposeful strides as he slipped through alleys and was spat back out to wider paths, all leading to the glimmering structure that still held its foundation as a whole.

A fortress of some sort in the middle of a sea of collapse and desertion.

And the closer that the lad got, he felt a radiating heat that sent sharp tingles up his skin. Magic. He loathed it in some days, however, grateful for it on the worst ones. Ever since he and Namiah entered the mine shaft at the outskirts of Quinzel, a developing town overly populated with blacksmiths, the pair felt the cold rip away from them like a wool blanket being thrown off their backs. Winter was just as an intruder as those miners who've strayed off from this mine shaft.

The pair were told of hauntings and demons lurking in the area, though the two knew better. Halgar and Namiah were seasoned in the arts of theft and darker things which placed them under death's judgement quite more frequently than most from their guild. Something that no one should envy, but is expected of when it comes to their type of employment.

The halfling had sensed it first, the unnatural aura that only magic emits. A drive which gave the halfling confidence to lead this time on the assignment.

That's when their argument sparked, only lasting for a brief time, then it stopped with Namiah threatening to leave him in the dust if he were caught in a magic crossfire with only a "large knife" to protect his hind. Though if he was, he would have agreed to that any day than having his childhood friend taking that place instead. Namiah is all he had, all he's ever cared for up until now. Even during these "fits" of hers.

He curses, as he finally reaches the feet of stairs that stretched towards the outer walls of the fortress. Still no sight of his halfling friend amidst the chaos that surrounds the almost too perfect fortress from within. Every part of his joints were aching from the strain of travel and the mildewy stench around him wasn't something he preferred over the biting cold of the winter air.

He's been through worse, however, so he continues on up the heavy set of stone slabs. Careful and treading lightly on the feeble steps that may or may not send him tumbling back down and crashing into paeastone walls.

The climb would've been tortuous, were he to be an overweight scholar like his employer. Halgar wondered whether he would've looked just like him if he were birthed into better circumstances. Better educated, well-fed, and having the luxury to be served instead of the other way around, he would've spent less time at the gates of death and enjoying the finer things in life if the choice was offered to him.

As he stood at the front of the grand entrance to the fortress he squints his eyes to verify whatever he was seeing was actually there.

Sure enough, a nearly transparent barrier was shimmering in and out of existence. 𝘐𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨? 𝘞𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵.

Pressing a hand forward towards the archway, he only minimized the distance so as to not let his skin feel the full effects of the barrier. Small sparks of energy still manage to make contact and it rides up his fingertips like a horde of mighty steeds in a battlefield. Not the most pleasant feeling. Neither was having the wind knocked out of his lungs as a hooded presence tackled him from the side.

𝘈𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵.

Halgar's heart hammers at his chest as a good portion of his torso hangs off the ledge of the long rows of stone at his back. Even under the dim lighting, the shadows on her pale face couldn't conceal the mischievous grin and those translucent green eyes that pinned him under. Autumn red locks frame her soft elfin features, bursting from the collar of her cloak in a single wave.

"Take that for stealth, you arse," she laughs, pushing herself off the ground and offering a hand to her unhappy victim.

"You almost killed me," Halgar grumbles in a matter-of-fact tone, yet he can't deny the relief to see her loud appearance and hearing that playful tone of hers.

Namiah simply scoffs as she pulls her taller companion to his feet. "I'm pretty sure you can survive a bit of a tumble from a couple of stairs."

"Couple of stairs!" he shoots back incredulously, then points to the downward stream of jutted cobblestones that may as well be the length of three houses stacked on top of each other. "I could'a broke my neck from such a '𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘵𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦.'"

"Well it serves you right! I caught you unguarded."

The frown on the lad's face seem to only fuel the halfling with pride. Ignoring the twirls and cheers of the redhead, he dusts the ancient ruins off his cloak and breeches. Then, he proceeds towards the guarded entrance that shelled in the glimmering blue walls of the fortress.

"Nami, what do you make of this?" He raises his hand again, attempting to test out the force of the protective barrier surrounding the walls.

"Ah, don't do that," the halfling rushes to his side, clasping a firm grip on his wrist. "The enchantment may have weakened over the centuries, but it's ancient magic from the old language of the gods."

The explanation may have been sufficient enough for a common spellcaster, but Halgar was merely a cunning thief with a pretty substantial body count. She knew his relationship with magic wasn't all that positive and he spent more time honing his abilities to track, steal, and hold himself up on combat than dealing with anything that has to do with thaumaturgy. So, anything that they face that is even the slightest bit "unnatural" it's the halfling's job to see to it.

"The thing's dangerous and unpredictable, better to not challenge its capabilities," she adds quickly to the puzzlement of the lad, not really improving his understanding of the 𝘩𝘰𝘸 part. "It's not like any of the other barriers we've come across before, this one feels a 𝘭𝘰𝘵 more hostile."

Halgar pulls himself away from her, allowing her the space to do what she does best. The strange and sudden detachment would've seemed callous from eyes that were only looking in, but it only meant to urge the halfling to work her miracles against the obstacle in front of them. While her magic afflicted partner hung back for necessary caution.

Taking various glances at the lightly engraved symbols on the deteriorating enchantment, Namiah attempts to untangle the already loosened spell with a counter of her own. The barrier trembles against her soft incantation, trying to minimize the damage of undoing the spell and controlling its energy simultaneously. She repeats the same chant over and over under a hush tone. Meanwhile, Halgar scales the vestiges of what used to be a glorious city ruled by thaumaturgy and wise old men in robes.

There wasn't much left of the place asides from broken skeletons of the past and the fortress that stands under the protection that two thieves are about to break as well. 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘱𝘴𝘦 𝘪𝘧 𝘸𝘦 𝘥𝘰?

The question bubbles more troubling thoughts of cave-ins and being buried alive, but the cheerful whistle of the halfling seems to pull him out of his apprehension.

"If you're just gonna stand there all day, I'll leave you with scraps!" Namiah taunts, throwing a wave of her hand from the archway as her cloaked figure disappears through the entrance.

"I'll kick your arse if you do!" Halgar surges in after her, only to be met with the back of the halfling's hand held straight up in the air, a signal that had a deeper meaning than a simple stop sign.

He catches himself before hurdling into her smaller form. Her vibrant eyes seemingly trained on an open window with flapping curtains. 𝘔𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵. The lad doesn't follow her gaze, he only sees the shimmering glint of another barrier standing in the way of their task and their claimable goods. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦'𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘤?! Halgar glares at the transparent wall, speculating whether there were more layers to them. Then, he glanced at the halfling, her height barely reaching his shoulders.

𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘦𝘹𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯?

A properly trained mage could, but for all he knew, Namiah was a self-taught thaumaturge. Spending her darios on literature that was outside the limits of the common tongues he picked up on from strangers in Arunall. She'd have a whole days work ahead of her if she spent all her energy on dismantling ancient spells. Even the lad knew that much, her reservoir of thaumaturgy wasn't as infinite as her thirst for knowledge. She'd pass out like the last mission they were on, stuck in a comatose state for nearly an entire week. Regret builds in his stomach, but before he can express his concern, the chanting had already begun. And he found himself moving aside for her once more.