"Game rule number 1: The divine powers lent by ASTRAVAL can only be used in the chosen world. When the game is won ASTRAVAL removes any power thus lent to the contracting player."
The dark elf finds another interesting item after the amulet. A kind of statue no bigger than his forearm half covered by the earth. His ears move a little in surprise and joy. The child squats, his fingers resting delicately on his find to dust it off with a caress.
Wood. The statue is made of wood.
The dark elf is disappointed but on his face only a slight lowering of his eyebrows can be seen. Those who can afford decorative items in the underworld take only the best. They won't want to pay for wood even as well carved as it is if the statue is that small. Despite his disappointment, he treats the object with care.
Slowly his nails sink into the earth so dry that it has cracks to unearth the rest of the wooden body.
He likes pretty things.
Those that take time to create.
Jewels, long swords carved on the pommel of the dead warriors, beautiful clothes with learned embroidery on the rich, The murals that he was able to see in one of the people who buy his finds, and the statues that decorate the cave in the public's space.
He really likes the idea of owning such an object. Maybe because he has never had the opportunity to have an object whose sole purpose is to be beautiful.
The statue under his care finds itself completely exposed. In a discreet way the child moves so as to hide it from prying eyes. Even if the wealthy won't buy it from him, there is still the possibility that an adult or another child stronger than him will come and steal what is his. Curious, he observes it.
The wood is dark, in places almost black as soot. It is a statue of a woman standing with her arms open as if ready to embrace or declaim. She wears a toga that uncovers one of her shoulders. She has curly hair. the child with his fingertips follows the waves after waves formed by her hair. On the wooden face the chin is round, small eyes are half squinted while the sculpted woman smiles with closed lips. Below her uncovered feets on a plinth an inscription: Valence; The Banished Goddess. The boy is taken aback. The sun is beating down so hard that for a moment he doesn't rule out the possibility of having seen a mirage.
Any dark elf who is not an infant knows all the gods.
There is no Valence.
To invent a divine being who dares? To do so, one risks losing the blessing of the god of their kind, of being abandoned like the dark elves are.
Who would want such a fate?
To live like a rat underground? And who would bring such a statue to war?
The child blinks, purple blurring in doubt. But the inscription does not change. He casts a circular glance around him. To which corpse did this statuette belong? It is at this moment that the sound of the Horn resounds. The air vibrates under the loud noise which spreads everywhere.
No doubt that a lookout has noticed another battalion advancing. Maybe it was reinforcements from Suets to take the Suroit clan from behind or the Suroits themselves are backtracking.
It doesn't matter to the dark elf race who wins or who loses. What is important is that if they are seen outside of the Undersun they will be slaughtered immediately.
Like vermin that are crushed so that it does not spread.
The childrens who until then had been collecting all the valuables on the field begin to run towards the gaping mouth of the cave. They are fast like hares and jump over obstacles like gazelles.
The adults pull their cart filled full to follow the footsteps of the youngest. It only takes them a few minutes to completely clear the area.
The little dark elf despite his limping leg advances almost as fast as the others.
They enter the cave in a heterogeneous crowd. The clicking of metallic objects as well as the sounds of hasty footsteps resonate in it. As soon as the light stops touching their skin, the black smoke under their skin forms arabesques and becomes more visible. Their faces become paler, some teeth begin to clench and some elves falter a little.
The boy is not spared from the phenomenon. He is even one of the most affected. His vision blurrs under the renewed force of the curse and his legs weaken.
He is hurt. So bad.
The pain is like a fire burning under his skin, scorching his nerves, bones and blood vessels. His hands hold his statue more firmly. The smooth wood under his fingers is cold and comforting. It is by the sheer force of his will that he remain standing. The dark eves move in a compact crowd through a wide tunnel.
Tunnel which leads to another much narrower one. So narrow that only two elves can pass at the same time or an adult with a cart. A line is created with the ease of habit.
Guards block the entrance and control each arrival so that no panic movement forms. But also and above all to profit from it.
They preferably block children, those who cannot defend themselves.
They search them without even bothering to find a pretext. Unlucky youngsters who don't hide their finds well get robbed. Losing the benefit of an entire day of hard work in seconds. The dark elf positions himself in a corner with his head lowered so as not to attract attention. He undoes another strip that encircles his calf to tie it around the statue and then attaches it to the back of his neck by rolling the rest of the fabric around his neck like a bandage. Attached thus The top of the wooden head touches the back of his skull and the feet of the statue are just below his shoulder blades. Part of his long shirt hides the wooden body and the rest is concealed by the mass of knots that belong to his hair. The child gets back in line, looking gloomy.
A tall elf in an all-leather outfit typical of the rear guards blocks his way almost immediately.
- Step aside.
The boy obeys with a straight face. His two purple eyes not blinking. The adult's large hands push him forward then move from his torso to his arms, which the child spread without being asked. At no time does the adult notice the statuette. Because the man doesn't touch his neck in his search.
-Spread your legs.
This time the boy pauses and bite his lips which only become redder under his teeths. His face, which has always retained a mature and cold look, seems to be nothing but a mirage. He looks innocent, embarrassed and in pain. But if the guard could see between the mess of locks falling around his face lile a curtain and covering his irises, he would see nothing but indifference.
He obeys again, spreading his legs slowly and one of them begins to tremble as if ready to yield under the effort. In a low voice, his eyes still lowered, he explains.
-My lord... sorry, I have a problem with my foot. It is the curse that gnaws.
The man doesn't care, his hands feel the leg which remains motionless up to the ankle then rests on the trembling one. As he reaches his ankle, the child collapses on himself in a yelp. On the ground, the little elf takes his ankle in his hands, which seems to make him suffer with his head down. Like a curtain his long black hair hides his fingers which steal from between the cloth strapping the amulet found on the battlefield. The soldier growls and a second later pulls him violently by the arm to get him up.
His thick eyebrows furrowed in an irritated expression.
His hands go over his ankle and finding nothing he loose his grip soon enough. The boy joins the line again and passes after a few minutes of waiting in the narrower corridor.
When everyone has passed, the entrance to it will be blocked by a rock and the oil cupolas carried by the soldiers will be lit.