It was in the air. She could just taste it, a foul, clammy feel near the back of her throat. Things were happening too fast these days and what she really needed was a nice long nap till all this was over. Presia sighed heavily and slid underwater. There was no way she could do it, that much she knew. In every generation, everyone who knew the Ballad was essential to its purpose. It will never end, this Holy War, so perhaps it made no difference whether she stayed submerged in her bath or go out to meet the Prophesied Ones.
She was tired, weary of leading her life in accordance with the age old tradition for the sole purpose of guiding an other-worlder on the path of death and destruction. The fall of one she dearly loved and would gladly surrender her life for. There must be another way! But there was none. The Elders foresaw no other solution, Clef had said. Cowards, the lot! All of them! They would rather a young innocent girl stain her hands with the blood of another than allow their own to even try!
Even so, she could do nothing. The Great Mechanics have been set in motion, and when it has, her place was among the living. To support the Messiahs with all the powers at her call. To fulfill their destiny. At all costs.
Presia went to meet her uninvited guest.
Kidnapped from her home, seperated from Gourry and the rest, then insulted by a runt, challenged by a weird cat like women who run at her first Fireball and finally locked up in a cage for no apparent reason, Lina was not paticularly thrilled at the moment.
It took a while to get her temper down and dispose of the lump of blackened metal that used to be the cage in question, which was really meant to keep certain white entities from messing up her now cindered library; by which time Lina was properly confused.
"So you're saying that I'm some kind of Messiah here to rescue your world from some Great Disaster or another?"
"That's right," Presia confirmed. "But first you've got to find the Legendary Mineral so that I, the greatest 'Maker' in this world, can create your 'key' to your 'Mashin'. And while you're doing that, I can allow you free run of my armoury... ..."
"There isn't any money in this, is there?"
"Excuse me?" Presia frowned. The Legends never mentioned this!
"Since I'm obviously being sent on a hero's quest, you don't expect me to do it for free, do you?"
"Well," The Maker started, suddenly uncomfortable. "I think you get to go home after rescuing the Princess. There's no way to be sure, but Clef's going to do it, I think......"
"You mean you dump me, a Genius Sorecess, in the middle of a world saturated with magic, throw me a quest with no gold in it and send me packing? Not a chance!" Presia paled. It was just what her loyalty had feared, that the Messiah would refuse and demand to be returned ho... ...
"You can at least spare me a month or so to explore the magics! Your occupation, for one, how in the world do you 'create' a weapon here? I haven't seen any forges or anything......!"
That free run in the armoury was a mistake, Presia realised ruefully. The girl had gotten off with virtually every piece of valuable looking item and her best Staff to boot, the one she had intended to give Clef for Christmas, come Winter.
Oh well, she is the Messiah, after all, Thought Presia and hoped frantically that Lina knew what she was doing. The last one didn't, according to her predessor. There was a blast of flames in the distance as the Inverse girl tested the staff on Mokona, the white floppy eared thing the cage was supposed to have trapped.
There goes my last link with Clef, She sighed, and realised she forgot to ask her about the Royal Mage. If she was the other-worlder, her path would have crossed with him. It's been ages since she last saw him and with all the political messes going on, they'd probably never meet again... ...
A rustle in the nearby bushes broke off her thoughts. Presia's amber eyes widened as a small blue chimera in dirty rags stumbled through and whispered a soft, almost indistinguishable syllable.
"Clef?"
The pebbles along his delicate jawline were dulled and chipped, his dark eyes feverishly bright. The stick he leaned against was not the storage staff she had loaned him six weeks ago and something about the set of his brows told her that all was not well.
"I have bad news and worse news, Presia." He rasped grimly. "We're doomed."