Year 2062

32 years after the Great Merge. Present day.


Six people were sitting around a campfire in the woods; five of them had their faces blurred with a grey mist. The only one who didn’t was a woman wearing a red robe lined with white and laced with jewels. Her slim features and delicate face suited the robe nicely, and her hair was fiery red with black highlights running through it. Her eyes were sky blue and her eyebrows well kept. In other words she was beautiful. She held a wooden staff in her hand with a glass ball on top.

“Quite the chatty bunch,” she said with a posh accent. It sounded as though she came from a privileged background.

None of the five responded, and the mist blurred their expressions.

She cleared her throat politely, “Well, I think it would be best if I learn who all of you are.”

The largest figure, who was clearly the leader, looked up to the lady. “We have to protect our identity. That was in the mission details,” the man said, his voice deep with a neutral accent.

The lady sighed, “The mission is to investigate a suspected necromancer, gone off the walls apparently.”

The large figure nodded.

“If we want to work together,” she continued, “I need to know who you are and what abilities you possess. A water mage would be useless against the undead.”

“As long as you swear to Odin you will not spread our faces,” the large man responded.

“I swear to Odin,” she said with her hand across her chest.

The large figure looked to the other four around the campfire and nodded. Four out of the five took their masks off.

First, the large man removed his. He had a large round face with bushy eyebrows and a beard, his eyes were hazel, and the shape of his face was that of a dwarfs. His thighs were larger than the lady herself, and if he stood tall he would clear eight feet. He wore thick leather armour that covered him completely, and had a large sharpened hammer leaning against the log he was sitting on.

“My alias is Tower, my lady,” he said respectfully.

“Oh please, no need for formality,” she said with a push of her hand.

“A mage of the High Temple does not want formality?”

“I don’t care for such trivial matters on these types of missions,” she replied.

Next was a slim man with a bow strapped over his shoulder and a raven asleep on his lap. His hair was slicked all the way back into a ponytail, and he wore thick glasses which held magic within them and enlarged his eyes. His size was average for a human, and he wore all black and kept himself clean.

“My alias is Sharp. I understand you are a pyromancer, which is very impressive I must say. You must have been scouted by the High Temple. Am I correct in making that assumption?” he asked as he pushed his glasses up his face. His tone sounded sophisticated but his accent was plain.

“Thank you Mr. Sharp, and yes I was scouted.”

Sharp gave her a warm smile, which she politely returned.

The next was a small woman with silver hair, and a straight cut fringe which covered her eyes completely. Her face showed no signs of emotion or any sort of movement. She was wearing all black leather armour, and her hair reflected the light of the campfire. Next to her was a giant longsword, twice as big as Towers.

“An elf? Your hair is beautiful,” the lady remarked.

The small woman didn’t move at all, just continued to stare into her own hair.

“Her alias is Mute. She doesn’t speak,” Tower said.

“Then how does she communicate?”

“She doesn’t,” Sharp responded.

The lady was going to raise concern but decided against it. She had just met these people and didn’t want to start off on the wrong foot, so instead turned her attention towards a man with a tall pink mohawk. The rest of his head was shaved and he wore the wrong type of leather armour for fighting, as well as a spiked collar around his neck, stained with blood. He had a stern face but a handsome one. A metal guitar was by his side.

“Spike. Nice to meet you, my lady. I never realised a mage from the High Temple could be so stunning,” he said, his voice rough but with a sway to it.

Tower picked up a rock and threw it at Spike. It connected with his chin and Spike glanced angrily towards him.

“Sorry about Spike. He can’t seem to separate work and socializing,” Tower explained as his gaze met the lady’s.

She laughed and didn’t seem to mind. Spike had a way with women.

“You haven’t told us your name yet,” he rudely remarked.

“My apologies, my name is Elora Evergrand,”

“I’ve heard of you and the Evergrand family. Your family originated from Lumina and carved their own way in the new world,” Sharp said.

“I am adopted,” she replied with a weak smile, expecting a few nervous glances from the others; but no one reacted.

Spike yawned and stretched. “You’ll fit right in here.”

“Is it true what they say about The Unwanted?” Elora asked the group. “You’re all orphans?”

Tower cleared his throat. “We um… Not all of us but many. The name indicates who we are.”

“Oh right. My apologies if I offended any of you,” she said, returning upright and into a lady-like posture.

There was only one person left who had yet to identify themselves; they still had their mask on.

“And you are?” Elora asked.

The man didn’t respond; he seemed to be asleep.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Tower said.


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