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Finally, I give up on looking at the shelves. I lie my head down against the wood in defeat, the light moving with my eyeline.
Outside, the commotion seems to be dying down, meaning that the elves will soon return to their stations. I know that now is the time to leave, and that if I don’t go now, I’ll miss my window.
“Hang on.”
It’s spoken far too loudly for somebody who’s supposed to be hiding.
There, on Dritz’s desk, is an open scroll among a pile of case scrolls. Some of the words are too gruesome for public records.
I stride over to the open scroll, unraveling it on the desk.
There, immediately before my eyes, is a detailed description of one of the murders and all of the associated information.
On a surface glance, it all seems conventional. It’s about as bloody and brutal as he described, and there’s nothing that doesn’t already confirm what I already suspect.
Then I start looking at the names, and they seem familiar to me.
“Sprin Whelbeck… Barron Afty…”
They’re familiar to me because all of the names have a reputation within the community. Each name is either associated with the human slave trade or with deceiving and conning dark elves. In the former case, the names are dark elves, and in the latter, they’re humans.
Of course, the first is entirely forgivable, and even encouraged by dark elven customs, but the second is a heinous offense to even elves.
I think back on everything the creature in the forest told me. It’s true that he didn’t say anything to ease suspicion off of himself. He might have offered me mercy, proving himself not entirely sadistic, but the descriptions still match him perfectly.
It no longer seems as important to question whether the creature is responsible for the killings. Instead, I shamefully start to question whether they might somehow better the world, even if he is behind them.
I’m not sure, but I think I might need to find him again.
8
RUKH
The forests have become strange and lonely to me.
“She had a particular scent…”
I try to remember it. It was enticing somehow… Sweet like berries but still bitter on the tongue.
I can seek her out whenever I want, and I have been watching her from afar. But as I tackle another dripir, eviscerating it in a more conventional way and savoring its meat and juices alike, I feel a strange longing I’ve never felt before.
And that feeling perplexes me.
I roam through the forest, shoveling into the ground with every impact of my claws. I need to fill myself up before I seek out a more satisfying meal.
The beasts have started to flee upon seeing me. I like to imagine that the creatures of the forest interact with each other in some meaningful way, letting each other know of potential dangers. The thought of a rodan chittering out a manifesto to its peers does amuse me.
Or perhaps they merely saw me devouring another creature and grew wise to my nature.
Either way, the chase helps ease some of the repetition. Every moment I spend bounding through the forest, teasing the animals with the chance of potential escape, is another moment my mind is otherwise occupied.
I lay out a neat pattern of carcasses in the middle of an unfamiliar grove, looking upon my work with satisfaction. The sigil isn’t functional by any means, but I like to think I saw it somewhere on an archaic structure.
In truth, I don’t know why I’ve been awakened, even if I’m grateful. The days are satisfactory to my senses, but it’s all become repetitive.
I wish somebody would clue me in on my purpose so that I’m not blindly following another directive. The souls around me all resonate with a particular darkness, but I don’t know what impact I’m having.
My senses heighten, and I realize I’m not alone. I hear nearby footsteps in the background, approaching me stealthily, but not nearly quietly enough.
