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"Foolish girl."
Markolab chuckled.
"She thought merely possessing it was enough. That only offers protection from a few fae glamours. You need to beat them to death with iron to be absolutely safe."
"Enough. She had no way to know that. Anyway, will this be enough?"
"If you're good at killing things with a fucking spoon, then yes. But worry not. We only need it to make our job easier. And as insurance."
Jet nodded and pocketed the ironware away. As he was about to leave however the peasant girl stopped him.
"Wait! If perchance you leave the town, could you maybe-"
"Don't worry about it."
He looked around.
"Which direction do the goblins usually come from?"
The girl stared at him in disbelief before exploding in a rage.
"You can't be serious! You'll get yourself killed!"
"Which way?"
The girl simply refused to answer and stormed back inside before slamming the door behind her. Markolab urged his master to ignore her and started guiding him instead. He directed Jet's attention towards a particular patch of the nearby woods that not only was more lush and vibrant than the rest but also had a few streams coming out to the plains. Even Jet, with his limited knowledge of the arcane, knew what that signified. Those are telltale signs of a nearby Demesne, the one Markolab already noticed before. And according to the demon that's most likely where the fae have set up camp. So that's where he headed.
It took him about ten minutes to walk out of town, and another forty to get to the woods. He had seen trails leading to other parts of the forest, but not here. The locals most likely had their superstitions about that area and with good reason. Demesnes are confluxes of Creation's essence, their great power tends to warp their surrounding area to match the elemental alignment of the demesne itself. There are cautionary tales of men living in demesnes of fire and developing red hair at first, then red skin, then they'd turn into beings of living fire. Though this is a slight exaggeration these places of power hold many dangers beside slow mutation over many years, like greedy spirits all vying for its control.
This place was most likely a demesne of Wood, as the forest around here was strong. The trees were tall, girthy and healthy. Tree and plant roots ran all over the ground like a blanket of vegetation one could easily trip over. The one thing that did not match this hypothesis was that despite its vibrancy the forest seemed almost desolate. It was quiet, deathly quiet. No birds sang, no bugs or lizards scuttled around in the undergrowth and no small mammals rustled the branches of the trees as they moved about. There is a popular philosophical quandary that monks of the Immaculate Faith love to recite.
"If a tree falls but none witness it, does it make a sound?"
Well these woods provide a good answer. It's so quiet here that would a tree to fall anywhere it could be heard everywhere like thunder.
"This place is giving me the creeps."
