Bizarre as sickly Æld’Norai would look to the denizens of the village, many of them would be aware of ferriers and the role they played within Ælheim as spiritual shepherds. Revered figures of religious significance, the Fælnir were taught to treat them especially well, as it was said that their withered bodies were the result of significant self sacrifice for the collective good.
Were Velho to have observed nothing, he had intended to have moved onto a more intrusive examination of one of the sick, and should that have yielded nothing as well, an autopsy of one of the dead. However, it appeared that he wouldn’t need to follow that plan of action, at least not yet– within a pool of bile yet to be cleaned swirled vibrant specks of Saol, indicating that something yet lived within it.
As with any gastrointestinal parasite, the writhing little things were robust enough to survive a wash through the harsh acids of the stomach. Perhaps he’d still pursue an autopsy, if only to see how far down the digestive tract this particular parasite made it before stopping to reproduce and inspect its various life stages if possible, but that would still come later. Finding the source and stopping the spread was to come before further examinations into how to purge the things from the body. Armed now with this insight, he would turn to leave the infirmary without having uttered a word, strides languid but marked by a fluid elegance.
Once outside, the man wished not to waste undue energy in looking for his subordinate. Bony fingers plucked a small, exquisitely reflective crystal from the velvety fabric of his robes. And as Velho gazed upon it, he was able to see on its glassy planes that which was in front of the younger ferrier– ‘round Efthimios’ neck was a crystalline shard, through which Velho was now Scrying.
The shard began to glow as if a small fire had been lit within and this strange phenomenon caught the curiosity of the person to which Efthimios was currently speaking. The shift in the other’s expression caused the ferrier himself to notice, and he then clasped a spindly hand ‘round the crystal. Scrying was an esoteric thing achieved by connecting Metaphoric bridges between objects, and, at a high level, even people. With both ferriers holding the connected objects in hand, the elder was able to project the image of the town’s well into the mind of the younger man, a message he perceived accurately as an instruction. And so when Efthimios once again let go of the crystal, Velho cut the connection short and slowly made his way over to the well.
“I see…in that case, my companion and I ought to pay that area a visit then, hm…?” Efthimios responded to the village elder, his voice carrying with it a similar sleepiness characteristic to almost all ferriers.
He’d pause for a moment, half lidded eyes of jade drifting off in thought. Ferriers oft came across as dreamlike or half asleep, as if they weren’t all there– though this couldn’t be further from the truth. Wracked with an inescapable malaise though their bodies were, their minds remained sharp as ever (even with Nihilos’ whispers always nipping at the edges of their thoughts).
When his gaze settled back onto the village elder,
“...you’ve served your purpose well. I’ll keep that in mind,” he’d conclude with a short nod before turning to leave– a vague statement, though the implication was clear enough. Should the villagers continue their servitude and compliance, then they could reasonably expect to see their fortunes change, for that was how it had always worked. Reverence and devotion from the Fælnir was always rewarded whilst anything less was met with any manner of ill fortune.
Though Velho arrived at the well first, Efthimios made his way over not long after. And whilst Velho was the more potent Mystic of the two, Efthimios did have some expertise in the theorem himself. The two loomed over the well’s edge, standing within close proximity.
“The water–” Efthimios began in a hushed tone, an effort taken to keep their conversation between him and the elder ferrier only.
“...yes, I saw evidence of the same microparasites within the bodies of the sick. The question, then, is…how or by whom the well was infected,” Velho cut him off, breathing out Ash between sentences.
“The village elder spoke of rabid animals by the pond…perhaps they’re infected…? And…they then contaminated the village’s entire water table…” Efthimios trailed off, gaze set in the direction of the pond.
Velho’s head turned, his eyes following the other’s line of sight, narrowing in thought.
“Likely.”
“So…what do you suggest?” The younger ælf looked to his superior for direction.
After a few seconds of silence,
“...were you alone, what would you do..?” Velho’s query caused the other’s posture to stiffen, the question clearly made him anxious.
“You will be expected to do things like this yourself eventually, Ferrier Efthimios,” his tone meant to remind that he was there as an overseer, not a babysitter.
“I…” Efthimios trailed off, blinking for moment as his mind flit between a few options, none of which he felt quite sure of.
“I’d be patient…t-that is…unless the spirits of the dead require our attention, we…we should fade into the forest’s shadows and…and…wait for these…supposedly rabid animals…? To show themselves,” his suggestion delivered with a notable lack of confidence, nerves fraying the fabric of his voice to create an audible waver.
“...and so we shall,” was all Velho said in response– but it was enough for relief to wash over the younger man.
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