Border Control

Outward appearances were deceiving with Nalaea, unless you were an elf. To human eyes she seemed slightly strange, with her striking black and blonde hair, and the concentric rings of colour in her irises. But to the Elves, the unmistakable stench of corruption poured off Nalaea, like the waves of an ocean lapping at a beach. There were stages to it, and some were less visible than others. The most obvious was the physical corruption, from the black streaks in her hair, to the concentric irises, all the way down to her uniform, a pitch black mockery of the Royal Rangers, with the sigil of Vordea in place of the symbol of House Valmaris. Less obvious was the mental corruption, only spotted by those who knew her well. It took the form of the slavish worship of Vordea, and even Nalaea herself didn't understand the trance she fallen into, to her it felt perfectly natural, not realizing how deeply she's been ensnared in the grasp of the Great Destroyer.

However, the most insidious of all was the soul corruption. She was no longer an elf, that much was certain. But neither was she a demon, for she lacked the demonic runes on her heart. She was something far, far worse. But that's a story for another time, right now Nalaea was walking up the Queen's Highway toward Chillwatch, and the Rangers could already feel her presence from kilometres away.

"You feel it too?" One Ranger asked, as another held his head.

"Yeah. It's like something's coming up the Highway. I don't like it." He answered, closing an eye.