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[stringoflights93]

Chapter 8: A Tale of Two Princes

“HELP! HEEEELLLLP!” The one in red is still screaming at the top of his lungs as he trips over something and staggers.

“For the Light’s sake, keep it together!” His brother snaps, grabbing his arm to keep him upright. The black, faint blues and gold in his cloak twirl around him in a mesmerizing pattern as he looks all around, the crown on his head sitting perfectly aloft.

The two young men in their fine clothes continue rushing through the trees. And behind them, the chittering, writhing swarm grows closer, their, ‘bzzzt,’ of fury stronger than any predator's growl you’d heard.

“GUYS!” You shout, whirling away from the window, already halfway to the door, your only stop to snatch your new bow and quiver from where you’d left it at the hearth. “Wake up! We’ve got company!”

There’s a crash as more than one of them startle awake in their rooms, but you’re already half out the door, bow drawn as the hulking swarm draws closer, gaining on the pair.

“By the Light! What are those?” Nia gasps, already right behind you. 

“Bugs! I hate bugs!” Imtura snarls, impatiently tugging the last of her furs on as she staggers out the door after you with one hand on an ax.

“Not just any bugs. Drakna,” Tyril seethes, easily gaining and then surpassing you with his longer legs, sword drawn.

“Please, help us!” The boy in red gasps, spotting you and spinning, nearly colliding back with the earth in his haste. His own crown is crooked upon his head and falls into his eyes, the gold of his cloak snagging on a tree and leaving him strangled in place.

“Time to take this dagger for a test run,” Mal’s almost laughing in delight, light footed as ever as he sprints. He hurls the magic blade you picked up earlier. It streaks through the air, punching a hole clean through one drakna’s head, this one red and black, only slightly smaller, no less deadly by its needle pinned arms. It makes a, ‘bbbzzzz!’ of anger as it collapses to the ground with a clean slice right through its skull only just starting to ooze blood as the blade twirls right back into Mal’s hand.

“YES!” His cheer and growing grin are infectious as you laugh along in delight. “Now that’s a dagger!”

As more drakna swoop in from the trees, you stop, warn anyone at your elbow, “I got this,” and aim within the ancient elven longbow. With a pull back of the string, you let your arrow fly.

It whizzes over the heads of the two well-dressed men and skewers an entire row of drakna. “Bullseye!” You crow grimly, already reaching for another. A few of them manage to make sad little, “Bzt!,” noises as they fall to the ground in a mishmash of wings and sectioned body parts.

“You-your longbow?!” The boy in red gasps, gaping up at you. “Where did you find such a thing?”

Before you can answer, another drakna swarms toward you, stinger raised. This one’s blue. It would have been beautiful to observe if it weren’t about to kill you. 

“Oh no you don’t!” Mal’s regular knife sings back through the air to paray the stinger away from your chest as the magical one is still returning. “Hrah! C’mon, kit, gimme a hand with this one!”

It’s swerving, the bug is already shifting on those massive wings. It’s to close to bother with another arrow, and you truly panic as those pincers snap in a disgusting spray over the both of you, its needle-like legs twist as if a mind of their own to decapitate the pair of you. With a wild flash of memory, you dig up the power, and siphon energy into the palm of your hand in a pure form of Light. 

“Ahhh!” The guttural scream is wrenched out of you along with the life-giving energy. The orb surges at the drakna, consuming it in hot white light. Its form glows, backlit as if it had just swallowed a flame. With a screeching buzz, it plunges to the ground where it lies still, smoking. 

“Wow, I really just did that,” you still mutter, staring at your own hand in amazement. 

“I knew you could,” Nia says, squeezing your arm in delight from behind you where she’s staying close.

But even as you celebrate, another drakna moves in, its buzzing filling your ears.

You throw up your hands, whether to shield yourself or blast them again even you don’t know- when a hand axe twirls through the air and slices the drakna’s head clean off. 

“Huh-” the flash goes by so fast you almost don’t clock what did it.

Imtura stands beside you, a huge grin on her face. “How many times am I gonna have to save you landrat?” She asks pleasantly.

“As many as you’d like,” you chuckle.

Tyril is a silent, deadly slice of air, felling at least half a dozen like a lethal shadow already. Between the four of you with Nia in the center, you’ve formed a ring of death.

The remaining drakna hover at the edge of the trees, buzzing angrily, but starting to wearily keep their distance…

“We make our stand here!” The boy in black proclaims, waving his sword around in a flash of gleaming metal.

“If we must fight, then we shall,” his brother reluctantly agrees, his hands curling up into fists as if ready to box the creatures to the last. 

The bugs don’t come any closer as the two young men ready themselves, standing either side of you like points on an inverted arrow. You can already see a plan forming in your head, how they’d draw them in-

But the monsters stare at you, their mandibles twitching. With an icy chill down your spine, you realize for the first time though, they’re not looking at you.

Your satchel is on Imtura.

Then as one, they turn and retreat into the forest.

“Yeah! You better run!” Mal cheers, waving a finger about as they go.

“The only good bug is a dead bug,” Imtura huffs, flinging goo from her horn in disgust. Then she hands your bag over to you wordlessly, and you gratefully slip it back over your head where it rests upon your shoulder without further ado, the familiar weight leaving you feeling centered and calm in the wake of that.

Tyril turns to you, clearly impressed. “You fought fiercely out there Syrum, quite the warrior with that bow.”

The praise makes you feel more light headed than the adrenaline rush slowly creeping out of your arms as you grin at him. What a morning! “Tell me something I don’t know,” you laugh wildly.

“Why did they all retreat like that?” Nia asks cautiously, still watching their forms. The buzzing of their wings can still be faintly heard if you listen for it.

“The drakna are a cautious species!” The new guy in red jumps forward eagerly, eyeing her with a brilliant smile as he answers in an excited cadence. “They never attack unless they’re certain they’ll win!” Something about the way he says it… like he’d read it somewhere…

“And we showed them we’re not one to mess with!” His brother says with a proud grin.

“Who are you two?” You ask in fascination, resisting the urge to reach over and feel their attire as it still gleams faintly in the low light, only a few threads really out of place to your shock.

“Are you serious? You don’t know?” The one in black has a disparaging voice as he eyes you up and down in a way you instantly recognize, and don't much appreciate. You sigh, shoulders slumping, resisting the urge to tip your face to the sky and ask why. You got enough of this from Tyril-

“Obviously not,” to your shock, it’s him who steps toward the human with a haughty frown of his own. “That’s why he asked.” Nobody does cold disinterest like him, and yet it gives your heart a twinge of joy to see his defense of you, your ignorance, for the first time.

“I don’t care what rock you crawled out from under, elf, you do not talk to me like that!” The guy, perhaps roughly your age if not closer to Mal’s, crosses his arms and sneers right back. He’s only a few inches taller than you, but you’d swear at least as tall as the trees the way he sniffs and holds his head high.

Tyril reaches for his blade, but the other kid jumps forward.

You blink in fascination if you were really about to see your friend lop the guy's crown off his head along with the rest of it attached just for that… and resist the urge to pull the boy in red out of the way, but no. That was maybe jumping the proverbial gun.

“Easy brother, they saved our lives,” the younger one puts a calming hand on his shoulder.

The snootier of the two sighs, then steps forward and puffs out his chest, brushing his brother aside impatiently. “Right. I am Prince Baldur Valleros, first of my name and heir to the Morella throne.” Well, that explained a lot, especially why Mal had already fallen to the back of your party with a look of almost loathing as he tucks his blade away, magical and otherwise. “And this pipsqueak is my little brother, Aerin,” he concludes with a dismissive wave of his hand. 

“Yup, that’s me,” he gives a sad little wave, eyes still sweeping over you, Tyril, and Imtura with great interest.

“You- your Highnesses!” Nia gasps, sweeping herself into a bow at once. “It’s an honor!” She then drops into a kneel before them… it’s not something you’ve ever seen before except once in your life, and you could almost laugh back on yourself doing the same to Threep... Though you always knew it was expected of you…

Then Mal makes a face, and grudgingly does the same. Your mouth actually falls open just a bit at the display from him.

“Right. Princes. My favorite,” he mutters under his breath, his words twisted and bitter. 

Imtura and Tyril however don’t move.

“You have no jurisdiction over us, especially not in elven territory,” Tyril remains his hostility, not having lessened one jot, and he’s stayed firmly in front of you.

“And orcs don’t bow.” Imtura scoffs at even the implication. “Especially not to soft little princelings,” she sneers at his bloodless sword still held casually at his side. 

There’s a moment of silence, and you feel the hair on the back of your neck tingle as all eyes land on you… the one raised with the humans. You know in theory you shouldn’t, to follow Tyril’s lead, but that’s not what really has you hesitating either.

… if Kade had been here you would have, just out of a moral obligation to your brother without question, anyone in Riverbend even… You almost feel the same instinct to do so for Mal’s sake if nothing else, it’s not as if you have any tie to Tyril as your ‘Lord’ or any other elvish way…

But you don’t. The moment passes, and you’ve crossed your arms, a firm feeling of obstinance for… something you’re only barely coming to terms with in yourself. You study the princes carefully instead for a reaction as you say, “you’re a long way from Whitetower, Your Highnesses.” There’s forced politeness in your tone at least to smooth over the situation.

Though truly, you already have even less respect for them than you did Ventra Tal Kaelen. This unimpressive fool was seriously lowering your already nonexistent standards of monarchy and leaders in general.

“It’s true,” Aerin sighs, looking longingly around. “But I’ve always longed to see the Deadwood for myself, a solemn reminder of the cost of hubris,” he manages a pitiful little laugh. 

“And that’s why you’re here?” You step beside Tyril, quirking a curious brow at Aerin, and still flashing a mistrustful look to his scowling brother as he clenches his hand around his sword, frustration radiating off of him. “To look at the devastation?”

Baldur quickly smooths out his face though and sheathes away his weapon at last. “We’re out here on a hunting expedition! I’m something of a collector of exotic beasts, you see, and rumor has it the biggest, most dangerous game in the kingdom is found in these woods!” He throws his arms wide as if expecting you all to oooh and ahhh on command. It’s vaguely sickening.

Tyril shoots him a glare so cold it could snuff out the sun. “You’re in these woods, voluntarily, to hunt?”

The thick little prince doesn’t bat an eye. “I’ve been after the drakna queen for some time. A worthy prize to bring home to the people of Whitetower!” His face shifts into his own anger though, laughable in the face of your friend really, but there all the same as he shoots his brother a look. “But while Aerin was supposed to be on guard for our caravan, we were overrun.”

“I did my duty brother,” he insists, shrinking back from him. “It’s not my fault.”

“We saw a caravan attacked further down the road,” you agree in surprise this at least was finally starting to come together. “Was that yours?”

“I’m afraid so,” Aerin groans. “Our companions were all killed by the drakna, as were our servants.”

Mal grumbles under his breath, “naturally, the smallfolk died while the princes ran away-”

“What was that?!” Baldur snaps, whirling around on him, hand back on his blade.

“Nothing,” Mal hasn’t raised his head yet, but you can hear that flippant smile back in his tone. “Your Highness, just clearing my throat is all.”

Anger burns through you, your firsts are clenched, but you know you shouldn’t interfere, directly anyways. Mal can handle himself at any rate. Your mind swivels back to that little voxper pup, and the master he mentioned as you step subtly between Baldur and Mal now. “Was one of your companions Lord Goffrey of Whitetower?”

“Indeed,” he levels you with an unimpressed scowl once more. “A drakna drove its stinger clear through his skull. What’s it to you?”

“Poor Goff,” Aerin sniffles, brushing at his eyes.

You ignore Baldur’s question as you feel the tight clench of your vow melt away with a lot less sorrow than you’d have anticipated. “How did you escape the drakna?” It takes all your self restraint not to smirk at him, having seen the tail end of how that ended all the same.

“I used one of my relics to distract them,” Aerin eagerly explains, and you smile much more fondly at him. “Bought us time to flee. Then I found a small burrow for us to hide in until most of them had left.”

“Pathetic,” Baldur spits out, glowering at his brother so harshly, you almost want to step in between them next at the animosity suddenly in the air as Aerin shrinks back. “Lying in the dirt like cowards while our friends were slaughtered.” … it was almost a valid point though…

“I thought we were clear of them, but after we emerged, a scout saw us, and they attacked again!” Aerin sighs meekly, shifting his weight around with glistening eyes. 

“And here we are!” Baldur concludes with a huff. “No men, no caravan, no supplies. Now then, who the hell are you lot, and what are you doing in the Deadwood?” He winds himself back up to his utmost superiority as his eyes scan between the five of you. 

You glance at your companions uneasily, are you really going to reveal your true mission to these princes? No one exactly leaps forward to do so. 

So you hitch a friendly smile in place, hoping it’s not half as sardonic as you felt it was to play this game. 

OR BOLAS OR

“We are lost, hopelessly lost,” you proclaim, looking frantically around as if just realizing where you were. “We were on our way to Whitetower, but we got lost and ended up here!”

“You’re, very far from Whitetower,” Aerin peers at you in confusion.

“We’re, very bad at directions,” you agree with a simpering smile. Tyril is giving you a stank eye you are actively ignoring. You would kick yourself later when he makes it clear he regrets defending you, but alas, you didn’t see anyone else coming up with any brilliant ideas.

“Hah!” Baldur laughs so hard he almost dislodges his crown. Almost. “Well, what do you expect from smallfolk, Aerin? They haven’t had our education. They haven’t sat through all those lessons on cartography.”

“You, slept through those lessons,” Aerin switches his frown between his brother and you now.

“Either way,” Baldur brushes his hand ariely, still laughing. “You’re in luck, now that you’re with us!”

“But, they still haven’t explained who they are or what they’re after-” Aerin tries to protest.

Mal mercifully steps forward at last, clearing his throat. It makes something in you release in relief to see him back to his natural charming self. “All right, cards on the table. We’re mercenaries.”

OR BOLAS OR

Before you can cobble anything together in your mind, Nia says, “we’re adventurers on a vital quest.” You shoot her an alarmed look, telling the truth to these guys didn’t feel high on your list of good options, but she’s smiling so sweetly as she talks to the earth, and you know it’s not an act. She’s truly overjoyed to be sharing this with them. “We’re on a mission of grave importance, seeking relics to save the world!”

… you suppose you shouldn’t stop her… you were going to need to get to Whitetower eventually and figure out how to get help…

“Oh, harhar,” Baldur scoffs at her with such derision, it makes your blood boil. “You had better not be fooling with me priestess, because I don’t like being mocked.”

“No, it’s true!” Nia says, looking up at him, and clearly floored at the scathing words. “We’re seeking the Onyx Shards to defeat the Shadow Court!”

“All right, now I know you’re messing with me,” his lip is twitching in an almost threatening way as he sneers at her, the exchange haunting you so much you stand frozen in place-

Mal mercifully steps forward at last, clearing his throat. “Yes, yes, just a joke. Our priestess, boy, she’s a real kidder!”

Nia gives Mal a hurt look, she’s clearly wounded as her eyes dart between the prince and him in utter confusion, but he steps forward with that familiar presence taking up center stage, blocking her from sight. “All right, cards on the table. We’re mercenaries.”

OR BOLAS OR

“We,” you begin grandly, giving the pair of them your most flattering smile that almost always got you a free biscuit. “Are so lucky we found you! We were so scared, lost in these woods until we ran into a pair of brave, strong princes like you.” You brush your hair behind your ear and then lean forward, letting the tips of your fingers pet Aeirn’s arm, and he flushes a deep scarlet. It glides under your fingertips like you were stroking water, shimmering a bit as the weaved fabric glimmers back. Gods but it was soft and pretty.

Imtura very poorly muffles a choking laugh, but Aerin’s eyes are only on you. “I, uh, would be, erm, most honored, to accompany you.” He stammers, red coloring his cheeks.

You can practically feel Mal rolling his eyes, while Imtura is not fighting down one bit of her laughter easily. You are going to wretch as your smile stays taught in place at Baldur next, who mercifully is even more dimwitted.

“Hmm, perhaps not who I would have chosen for myself, but I suppose one can’t be too picky in the Deadwood.” To your absolute horror, he takes the flattery even more personally and gives you a newly appraising look. “But you still haven’t explained what you were doing out here, perhaps you’d like to talk in private?”

“I-” horror slams into you at the implication, but before you can actually vomit, Mal mercifully steps forward at last, clearing his throat. It makes something in you release in relief to see him back to his natural ‘charming’ self. “All right, cards on the table. We’re mercenaries.”

Nia starts to sputter in confusion, and you shake your head quickly, gratefully falling back beside her with as little obvious haste as you can manage. 

“We’re in the employ of Lord Kelvin Gillbottle of Whitetower,” Mal’s still seamlessly going as smoothly as you had, if not one better. “You do know Lord Kelvin, I presume?”

“I- yes, yes of course,” Baldur says stiffly at once, frowning as if just remembering Mal existed.

“He had a delicate matter he needed taken care of,” Mal waves his hand flippantly. “Some compromising letters were stolen. He hired us to get the letters back, delicately.” He even claps a fond hand on your shoulder, and you resist the urge to bury yourself alive at the hole you dug for yourself as Mal finishes smoothly. “With the matter done, we were supposed to meet up with Goffrey of Whittower somewhere around here to trade for our reward.”

“Mercenaries you say?” Baldur takes the lot of you in again with vague understanding. “That means you can fight?”

… as if you hadn’t just saved his hide to be having this conversation?! How thick could one get?!

“Damn right,” Imtura’s finally swallowed that little fit of hers and says it with her usual pride. You resist the urge to slink behind her and never speak again honestly. 

“Then perhaps we may find ourselves in a mutually beneficial situation,” Baldur says with the kind of brilliant, self-made smirk of only one who has never had an original thought in his head can have. “Given that we lost most of our party and our gear, Aerin and I need to resupply at Undermount before we get back to the hunt. We could use some extra blades on the way there. If you’re willing, you'd be rewarded handsomely. What do you say?” He concludes with a grand gesture at the world at large.

You all trade a look with Mal, some more vexed than others (Tyril), but your thief dons an easy grin and is quick to play along. “Make it 20 gold each, and we’re in business.”

“20 gold?!” Baldur snaps, fingers itching back for his blade at once. “I’m a prince! I could order you if I wanted-”

“20 gold pieces each sounds more than reasonable,” Aerin smoothly cuts in. “We accept your offer.”

You blink in fascination at the pair of princes, still feeling a bit small and out of your element as you have only the vaguest of a concept what that amount of gold is really worth. A house? A kingdom? A good meal?

“Perfect!” Mal claps his hands together jovially. “Now if you don’t mind, we’ll just grab our things and be on our way.”

Leaving the two to collect themselves, you and your companions return to the lodge to collect the rest of your own belongings. 

“Mal!” Nia yelps, standing hesitantly in the entrance and looking from them to him. “What were you thinking, lying to the princes like that?”

“I’m sorry Priestess,” Mal says without a single sorry in his tone. “Should I have told them the truth? That we’re fugitives wanted for the murder of the mayor in Port Parnassus?”

You blink in surprise, honestly almost having forgotten about that in the storm of everything else that had followed. 

“Perhaps we can avoid the whole truth, but, these men are your monarchs. This conduct feels exploitative,” Tyril says a tad uneasily, looking more at Nia than Mal with his own sympathy for the position she was in.

“Yeah, it’s because we’re exploiting them,” Imtura snorts.

“She gets it,” Mal gives her an affectionate smile Imtura quickly returns. That is an entire other basket of jealousy to deal with much later.

You can’t help but side with Nia and Tyril here at the wrongness of it at minimum, if not the danger in the future. “Sooner or later Mal, they are going to find out you’re lying. I mean, what happens when they get back to Whitetower and talk to Lord Kelvin Gillbottle?” 

Mal gives you a look of pity. “That would imply that Lord Kelvin Gillbottle actually exists.”

“That, that’s even worse!” Nia gasps, her voice uncomfortably loud as your eyes dart unpleasantly past her. 

“Relax, would you?” Mal rolls his hand through the air like he’s hiding a card up his sleeve. “By the time the fancypants brothers make it back to Whitetower, we’ll be long gone, our pockets heavy with gold!”

“And what of honor and decency? Do you not care about that?” Tyril asks with frost in his tone.

“I’m honorable to those who honor me, Blue,” Mal gives him a wink. “And you’d better believe that nobles like that would string me up in a heartbeat if they knew who I really was.”

That is uncomfortably true, and you frown anxiously at Mal, wondering vaguely if you should start calling him a false name or something for the duration of this trip. Gartho would suit him well.

But he’s already got his bag back on his shoulder and is looking to get back on the road with one last roll of his eyes at all of you. He knows what he’s doing.

You feel an unpleasant prickling sensation as you remember the blade he’s carrying too, and the vow you’d made to that voxper. He was dead, you firmly chastise yourself. Vow done! Nothing you can do about it now… unless this Goffrey did have family at Whitetower of course. Then you’d be happy to finish this!

 Besides, that Baldur certainly doesn’t deserve it! You sigh loudly before the two of them can escalate into an argument. “Either way, the deal’s already been made. Let’s pack our bags and hope it works.” You pause, and look around, feeling like you’re forgetting something… “Hey, has anyone seen Threep?” You ask blankly as you look at the empty fireplace.

“Here,” he calls from underneath a bed in one of the far off rooms. “Are those bugs gone?”

…

The seven of you begin the next leg of your journey through the Deadwood, you walking beside Nia behind the rest of the group. When you’re out of earshot, Threep pokes his head out of the bag. “I suppose this little ruse with the princes means I must stay in here?” He grumbles like a kid in timeout. 

“Sorry,” you croon gently, scratching his head. “It’s to keep us safe. Hopefully it won’t last much longer.”

He huffs but burrows himself back inside Nia’s pack, with her sighing right along with him. She looks around at the trees, her expression lingering sadness and thoughtfulness. “It’s so strange,” she murmurs, “if you look just right, you can almost see how beautiful these woods must have been once.”

“Not just beautiful,” Tyril agrees, easily overhearing and glancing back at the pair of you without missing a step. “Marvelous and magical. The most sacred and glorious place in the world. Lost now, to shadow and ruin.” The sadness in his voice is so familiar to you by now, you wonder if he’s carried it all his life.

“That’s just terrible,” Aerin says, walking rather closer to you than you’d expect as he begins slowing his tread.

You peer into the thick of the dead trees, their branches twisted against an eerie sky still. “These woods can be redeemed,” you say with fervent hope, brushing your hand over a trunk as you pass. “If they were beautiful once, then they can be made beautiful again.”

“Do you really think that’s possible?” Aerin asks you with wide-eyed hope.

“I do,” you agree, smiling back.

“Then I do as well!” Nia beams. “And I’m happy to contribute in whatever way I can!”

Aerin clears his throat at those words and glances on ahead in a very unsubtle fashion. “I would like to apologize for my brother, he’s a little-”

“Despicable?” Tyril happily offers with his usual grace.

“I’d be lying if I said this was the first time I’d heard that,” Aerin actually laughs in agreement.

“At least Mal’s taking him off our hands for now,” Imtura chuckles.

Up ahead, Baldur walks with Mal, a hand clasped around Mal’s shoulder. “So there I am, in the middle of the slums, drunk as a devil, trousers around my ankles, and all the slum girls are staring at me like, well, you know how they’re staring, am I right?”

Mal forces a smile, but as Baldur prattles on, he turns to look at the rest of you, mouthing forlornly, “help me.”

You honestly wish you could, no grievance he’s ever given you really deserved such a punishment, but honestly, you were a little traumatized to go back near Baldur any time soon. 

Besides, your pity doesn’t lie just with your friend as you look from Baldur, to Aerin. “Is your brother always like this?” You truly can barely wrap your head around them. You knew of course not all siblings were as close as you and Kade, there had been plenty in the village who couldn’t stand to be in the same room… but still, it was surprisingly brutal to you to see after being apart from him for so long now.

“Oh no,” Aerin says pleasantly, “usually he’s far worse.”

Tyril sighs, and somehow or another, decides to take pity on the situation. He goes up and says something to the pair, and then drags Mal off up ahead, but whatever they’re doing couldn’t be as bad as what they were leaving behind as Baldur calls after them he’d keep watch here and pompously marches on.

                “I could have gotten out of that myself you know,” Mal tells him, holding a branch out of his way now that they were far enough ahead, they really might as well scout around.

“Oh, I’m so sure.” Tyril says without batting an eye. “You have exactly one skill, and it’s driving people to insanity. I think we’ve enough problems in this accursed forest without subjecting some human prince to that.”

“I was just seeing which of my so called friends was going to come to my rescue,” Mal continued blithely as if there had been no response. “Kit’s got that little kid back around him five seconds and he’s already abandoning me, the traitor.”

“I’m sure Aerin will be a great influence on him,” Tyril agrees beneath the sarcasm, walking lightly past the branch at last with a nod of thanks. There’s a long moment of silence, before Tyril finally asks of him, “tell me something. Syrum speaks often of his human brother, but not of the rest of his town. He’s said they treated him fairly, but, I must wonder at how he truly views other humans, considering what just happened with his princes.”

“His princes, I wouldn’t say that for certain,” Mal snorts. “You expected him to bow too,” Mal nods in agreement. “Yeah, kind of surprised me too, should have seen those kids when they met Threep.”

Tyril just walks beside him in silence until Mal grumbles but answers with a shrug, “far as I can tell they were decent to him. You remember the two he mentioned who died at the Temple before they found me again, well I asked Grenn what the heck an elf kid was doing in their village walking and talking like them. She told me the same story he’s told you, that flood, poof, shiny new orphan.” There had been a part of him, a very small ignorable part there's no telling if he would have acted on anymore, to go back and offer the kit a trip to Undermount. Just to see if he'd do it. No telling how that would have turned out now, he laughed at himself. 

Mal can feel the anger radiating off of him by the end, and blinks at him strangely. “What? You think he’s hiding some deep horror story about a po-dunk place like Riverbend giving him lashings in the street?”

“Not, exactly,” Tyril’s posture looks painfully straight, the way he angles himself not to look at Mal as they walk together.

“Well, spit it out then,” Mal sniffs.

Tyril sighs, and does not ‘spit it out,’ thank you. His tone is still more rough than he usually allows though. “It angers me to see him so, ignorant. I have never been around someone like him, who walks and talks like a human so often."

"Well I'm pretty grateful for it," Mal smirks. "Nice to meet someone like him who doesn't walk around with a stick up his ass. Maybe a few of you elves could take a lesson or two from him. Don't try to change him now, gods forbid."

Tyril easily ignores the interruption, trying to explain himself, the anger he didn't mean to keep showing to Syrum. "I don’t know how to- and well, I blame that town of his. Not a one of those people considered returning him to Undermount?”

Mal’s laugh was deeply unfunny. “Shows how much you know of a little place like Riverbend. I guarantee you the thought never crossed their mind. The farthest any of those people had ever been from their little huts in the mud was Port Parnassus before I showed up, and that’s a good few days by wagon to trade goods and go back home.”

“They knew some elvish, they named him as such, they had to know Undermount existed-”

“Oh, I’m sure they did,” Mal nods in vague agreement. “That old lady who nursed the boys apparently had an elf friend in her youth and everything, they knew you existed! No, I mean they were as likely to make that kind of journey as you would to hold Baldur and Aerin’s hand back to their kingly daddy rather than leave them in this forest.”

“It’s not the same, those boys came out here of their own volition-”

“Look, Tyril, I’m just saying, don’t take it out on those people anymore than you would Syrum. I know people like that, they did the best they could for him, hell, better than a lot of kids like him got in this world. It’s nobody’s fault. Bad shit happens. You roll with the punches or you stay down. That kid’s still rolling, and he’s damn good at it.” Mal sighs, looking at him with a strange smile. 

“Roll with the punches,” he repeats back strangely. “Yes, very well. I take your meaning.” He pauses suddenly, head tipped to the side, frowning. “I sense something.”

                “But, you’re okay for a princling!” Imtura says, frowning between the pair as strangely as he keeps eyeing her. “How in the seas did he turn out like, that?”

You wonder if she sees any of herself in Baldur and how she might turn out if she follows her mothers wishes.

Aerin heaves a sigh, as if this were not the first time he’d answered this question. “All his life, Baldur’s been told he’s destined for the crown. He acts as though he’s invincible, because he is. It’s not just that he’s the oldest. He’s also the favorite. Handsome, bold, outgoing, a great hunter and a warrior… nothing like me,” he finishes in a small voice.

You hate to see him so low on himself. You willingly admit to yourself you’re projecting as you stare at this little brother, bookish and a little squirrely, but obviously has a good heart. “Hey, you should be glad you won’t be king,” you offer with a friendly nudge and a wink at Imtura.

“I suppose there’s a relief in not dealing with the burdens of power,” Aerin gives you a strange, restless shrug. “At worst, I’ll end up on his council as one of the many advisers he won’t listen to,” he admits to himself cheerfully though.

“How, reassuring,” you sort of want to laugh, but honestly that’s a depressing thought all its own.

“I’ll do what I can to keep him from harming the kingdom too much,” Aerin insists with a playful grin at you. “And at least I’ll have my books. I love reading of all the realms, even if I rarely get the chance to visit them!”

Your laugh sounds a bit hollow, but you hope he doesn’t notice as you squeeze the strap of your bag. Oh gods, the stories you could tell of how the world really was… but that pain only lodges deep in your heart as you firmly remind yourself better start getting some story straight. Kade’s not going to rest until he hears it all one day.

You march on, the path growing steeper as it winds into the mountains that conceal the elven city. But as you round a corner, Tyril throws up a hand. “Wait. I sense something up ahead.” He and Mal have stayed up at the front, just out of sight before this. Now, you all come upon him brushing aside thick leaves of a path, revealing-

His gasp is sharp enough to know you were certainly looking at something more impressive than another crumbling old house. “It’s a temple of the Old Gods!” Tyril murmurs in reverence. “This is ancient, from before the Great War!”

“Looks like a bunch of broken rocks to me,” Baldur scoffs. 

“Hardly brother,” Aerin shakes his head, tapping his chin with interest. “It’s clearly a historical relic. Who knows what lays preserved in there!”

“I can sense power inside,” Nia says with awe of her own, holding her hand out with interest towards the place. “I think it’s the Light calling to me…”

Well that sort of creeped you out after you found out it also had a tendency to drain her like a bloodsquid.

“I would like to explore these ruins,” Tyril said succinctly, little room in his voice for argument. “There may be something of great value inside.”

“I’ll go with you!” Nia says in excitement. “I’ve always dreamed of seeing a temple like this!” You can’t help but give her a side-look at the last temple the two of you had been in together, but she just gives you a brilliant smile.

Mal snorts. “Now who wants to wander off!” Before Tyril can even give him his level-best glare, Mal’s already raising his hands in surrender. “Fine, I suppose the rest of us could use a chance to rest.”

“Will you accompany us Syrum?” Tyril turns away from him, and you're floored at the invitation as he meets your eyes. “This is just as much for you. We could always use another set of eyes on our search as well.”

“Y-yeah!” You stutter without hesitation. “Let’s do it! I am in, let us check this place out!”

He smiles, and you smile back, pathetically glad you don’t have a tail right now at the excitement coursing through you. “Have fun!” Imtura calls to your retreating forms, throwing herself onto the ground and stretching out.

You only glance back once out of pity to see Baldur sidling back up to Mal for another chat… but you’re pretty sure they all won’t kill each other until you get back…

The three of you approach the temple. It’s a worn down ruin, overgrown in pulsing ivy, but even here, you can sense its ancient majesty, an electric tingle of dormant power. “This old temple’s in pretty bad shape, do either of you see a way in?” You ask, eyeing the pile of, dare you agree with Baldur, nothing but old rubble, broken rocks, and boulders as you get closer. You’re still not even sure what about it drew Tyril’s attention to begin with.

“It looks like there are two possible entrances, but they’re both partially collapsed. I’ll check out the front entrance,” Tyril says.

“I've got the one on the right!” Nia says brightly. “Syrum?”

OR BOLAS OR

You blink, and glance uneasily at the two. “You’re sure you should be going off alone Nia?” You can’t help but ask in concern. Any manner of things could happen to her…

“Well I wouldn’t be going alone if you came with me now would I?” She laughs, already turning away whether you agreed or not.

You give Tyril an apologetic smile and gesture to her retreating form. He nods in agreement, probably best to keep an eye on her. “Good plan, you two should stick together.” Without another word, he leaps gracefully down the crumbling stones leading to the front entrance.

 Nia smiles at you. “I can feel that there’s something special here, it’s almost calling to me.”

Yeah, that’s still a little creepy, but you grin at her all the same because this really was her kind of thing. “Then let’s go find it.”

You and Nia enter the ruin and make your way through a crumbling passageway that you both can just barely squeeze through. How did the two of you keep ending up in these situations? “So, this palace is really two thousand years old?” You prompt, eyeing every crevice of the walls of this land with at least the vague interest your past felt was due.

Nia’s gazing around awestruck. “I don’t know, I’ve never been in a place like this-”

There’s a loud cracking noise from above, and some chunks of masonry break off and plummet right towards her!

Swiftly you lunge, tackling her out of the way, the two of you stumbling and falling down against the wall farther into the passageway as the rocks cascade in a hail of death. “Oh, Syrum! You saved me,” she gasps, heart rattling in her chest as she clings tightly to you and peers around in a sadly familiar look of horror.

“It was nothing,” you smile reluctantly, your own heart can’t stop shaking if she’d come down here alone. “Quick reflexes.”

She lingers close, smiling into your eyes, but then sheepishly looks away, ducking out of your arms and clearing her throat. “I guess we should be a little more careful going forward.”

With a pang of guilt, you vaguely still wonder about that dance you’d shared so long ago… gods you hope she didn’t have a crush on you you couldn’t reciprocate. 

As she picks her way over the fallen rocks, she steeples her fingers and releases a handful of small golden lights. 

“How much of your life did you lose just now for that?” You can’t help but blurt out. 

“Not much,” she’s still casually insisting, still as quick to smile as ever. “Believe me Syrum, I’ve trained to maximize the impact of my Light. And it feels right to use it to help.”

You take a deep breath, shaking your head. “I do believe you, of course. I’m sorry. You’re really special, you know that Nia?”

“You certainly make me feel that way,” she giggles with a shy smile at you, then gasps as she sees a room that the falling rocks revealed now in full view from her little orbs.

You’re almost relieved to have her scamper away for a moment without a glance back as you stand rooted to the spot in misery of no way to respond to that, your lips tingling as you remember your previous night with Imtura… and you just can’t do it. Can’t picture Nia’s soft, slim body giving you the same feeling you craved right now-

“Syrum! Get in here, look at this!”

Ducking inside, you see her standing in fascination in front of an altar covered in ancient, half-melted candles before you. There’s enormous statues as tall as the ceiling in different poses at each corner of the wide open room as large and grand nearly the size of Riverbend itself. Steps lead down to a pit in the middle that is empty. All along the walls are tables and chairs of solid gold.

“This must be the inner sanctum of the temple!” Nia’s all but gasping in delight. You’ve never seen her eyes so greedy to take in every crevice of the place at once.

“I’ll light the rest of the candles,” you swiftly offer, already seeing her eyes on those braziers. “I’ve got flint and steel, you save your Light.” As you reach in your pack, Nia takes another step in all the same-  Just then, a warm, gentle breeze comes from out of nowhere. 

As it passes through Nia, she glimmers with a brief golden aura. It fades as quickly as the breeze, but the candles and torches in the sanctum suddenly flicker to life. 

… “Did you do that?!” You yelp, but a part of you already knows the answer. You’d felt what her magic was like personally.

“No, I didn’t do anything!” She yelps right back. “It just, felt like, it felt like the temple recognized me. Like it was saying, hello.”

“The Light must still be so strong here that it reacted to the Light you emanate,” you gasp right along with her at the magic in this world, this room, coming right off of her.

“I can’t believe it,” she looks near tears of joy. “In the middle of these woods, where the Light is so weak, there are still pockets where it shines as radiantly as ever before!”

“Let’s just hope that the sentient temple doesn't mean us any harm,” you can’t help but rain on her parade, but well, you’ve had some pretty mixed experiences with magic lately. 

“I have a good feeling that the temple’s friendly,” she giggles. “But even if it wasn’t, I know you’d protect me. I, I always feel so safe around you Syrum.”

Your heart melts at that. “I always feel safe around you too Nia. You really do mean so much to me, I’ve never had, friends, before. Kade and me, you know, we were all each other had for so long. I’ll do anything to keep you safe.”

Her smile lights her up from within as if a spell all it’s own, and she throws her arms around you in a tight hug. “I guess that means you intend to stick around for a while?”

You laugh in surprise, and hug her back tight. Whatever had made her think otherwise? “I’m here whenever you need me, as long as you want. I’ll protect you from whatever I have to.”

She presses her face tight into your shoulder for a moment with a ragged breath before pulling back. “Thank you. I feel stronger every day I’m with you, you always chase away any doubts there are to have.” An echo of that golden aura in the room lingers around her, making your breath catch in wonder at her beauty.

But she steps out of your arms now without any more hesitation, smiling just to smile as usual now. “We should try to find Tyril, show him this place.”

“Of course,” you agree, looking all around. “He’ll go crazy seeing this, he might even smile if we’re lucky.”

Nia giggles in agreement, and as if summoned out of the shadows, Tyril’s padding his way inside, a smile indeed on the corner of his lips as he sees the two of you. “Glad I found you, my way was a dead end. What-”

But he stops, and stares. You’ve never seen such a wild look of awe pass over him as his eyes take in every corner of the room.

OR BOLAS OR

You blink, and glance uneasily at the two. “You’re sure you should be going off alone Nia?” You can’t help but ask in concern. Any manner of things could happen to her…

She puffs out a bit of air and gives you a pout. “I’m perfectly capable you know! I don’t need a babysitter!”

“I-” you break off and wince. “Okay, yeah, I apologize. Shout, if, you need us? I will, go check out the front with Tyril, I know you’ve got whatever you find.”

“I will. Let me know if you two find anything interesting!” She gives you a smile and skips off. It hurts to see her go off alone… but you admit to yourself it’s not fair not to trust her if she says otherwise… past evidence to the contrary…

“She’ll be fine,” Tyril promises, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “She has more training than you at sensing the powers in this place.”

“Right,” you mutter with a wince, quickly looking away. Who’s the idiot who needed a babysitter now?

“I-” Tyril drops his hands, and for the first time, looks truly awkward. “I didn’t mean mean it like that, Syrum, I-”

“Come on, we’ve got ruins to explore,” you remind not unkindly but more than happy to change the subject as you head towards the slim bit of a gap he’d called an entrance at the front.

He follows you through, and the two of you make your way side by side through the crumbling passageway. It’s surprisingly open in here, wide arches lining the corridor. You feel humbled and deeply in love with everything your eyes land on, taking it all in at least three times as you slowly walk on to the next thing. Tyril waits patiently, moving at your pace, taking it in as equally as you, if not as slack jawed when you catch sight of him on your slow revolving steps.

You can’t help but stare at the scenery before you, the tragic ruins and the haunting beauty of a place long abandoned as your eyes wander between him and those patterns you can barely discern in the dust. “So, this place is really two thousand years old?” You murmur.

Tyril runs a hand along a wall, his fingertips coming back coated in dust. “Possibly older. It-” he freezes at a loud cracking noise from above, and some chunks of masonry break off and plummet right towards him as he looks everywhere else for the threat.

Swiftly you lunge, tackling him out of the way, the two of you stumbling and falling down against the wall farther into the passageway as the rocks cascade in a hail of death.

“What-” 

Tyril is overwhelmed, snatching you close, throwing his armored arm over your head and apparently still processing what had just happened as the rocks finish their crash to the ground where he had just been standing a moment ago with a look of shock.

“Ah. I see.” He says in a soft, clipped voice, same as ever. If not for the tense strain in his neck you were pressed against, you wouldn’t have known he was phased at all.

“You okay?” You ask, pulling back, peeking up at him. “Wouldn’t want any rocks messing up your noble visage.” You grin.

He nods gravely and lingers a moment in your arms before cleaning his throat and pulling away, but giving you an unmistakable look. “Thank you, Syrum. It appears you, ah, rescued me. You didn’t have to do that.” He concludes with an odd frown. Not at you. At himself, for needing you.

You fight back a smile. “Tyril, you’re just going to have to get used to the idea of people caring about you.”

The severity of his words shocks you as he all but hurls back, “you would do well to keep your distance. I avoid attachments for a reason.”

You flinch and step quickly as far back as you can. Regret floods his face. He opens his mouth, but you’re already turning away, refusing to let yourself brush at the lingering dust in the air that was making your throat tight. Yeah, he’d made that pretty clear who he selected could be close to him and you obviously didn’t qualify-

“Syrum,” he grasps your shoulder, halting you with that one touch. You sigh and resist the urge to jerk your shoulder away. What else could he possibly want? “I-” but before he can say anything else, his eyes catch on what he spots beyond the wall that had just caved in. “Syrum! Look at this, it’s the inner sanctum of the temple! It’s almost perfectly intact!”

He’s scrambling inside, now leaving you as the one to blink at what just happened as he darts off. You follow without hesitation and enter a room lit up by slanting sunbeams breaking through holes in the ceiling. An altar covered in ancient, half-melted candles stands before you. There’s enormous statues as tall as the ceiling in different poses at each corner of the wide open room as large and grand nearly the size of Riverbend itself. Steps lead down to a pit in the middle that is empty. All along the walls are tables and chairs of solid gold.

“This is incredible.” He gasps, the same deep love Nia still carries in herself for the Light now prevalent in him. “I wonder if…” he trails off and makes a hand gesture. A dozen tiny globules of fire fan out from his fingertips, hovering in the air before alighting on the wicks of the candles on the altar. 

“It’s beautiful,” you gasp, your hands buzzing with energy and your own fire to see such a display. “It’s like this place was never abandoned!”

“Some never abandoned the Old Gods,” he agreed, and from the weight he carries in those words, you finally suspect you know where he stands on that. “I’m gratified to find a place that holds their memory.”

You glance curiously at the orbs of light he created and back at him though. “What is it about our magic and Nia’s that’s so different exactly? Because we live longer? Won’t you shave down your life to under a hundred years if you keep doing that?”

His eyes settle on you with that patient, but zealous tutelage of last night as he firmly instructs, “we teach our magic so as to use as little of our life force as possible each time, to maximize its effect and pull from very specific aspects of our self. It is something we are made to understand as soon as we can form constructs of thought Syrum. Nia, whoever taught her, they-” he stops, and harshly clears his throat this time. “It is not my place to undermine her way of life. My point is, you would do well to consider this going forward, they are not the same way of doing things.”

“Yeah, I got that,” you assure, casting your eyes back around for a change of subject. You’re still not even sure where you sit on the issue.

OR BOLAS OR

You look from the deep love on his face as he continues taking in the room, follow his line of sight… and can’t really grasp what it is he’s seeing besides a big room full of stuff. “Tyril, you never said why you avoid attachments.”

“I have a mission. That comes first,” he says, stiff, crossing his arms, now looking deliberately away from you more than at the room. 

“Yes, but we’re on this mission together now. I’m here with you.” You feel like a dick reminding him of this, but a part of you does constantly wonder if he’s surprised you’re even still there when he looks over just to make sure your satchel is still present. “Like it or not, you have attachments. And you don’t have to be alone.”

“Maybe it would be better if I was,” he still says with billigrance… but there’s a sadness to his eyes, gentling his words so he doesn’t sound like a complete dick himself as he does glance at you. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned about evil, it’s that it will use your connections against you. Caring is a liability in this fight.”

“Do you really believe that?” You ask with a deep, sad frown at his view of the world you no longer really want to understand.

“I know it to be true,” he says bluntly, but his own frown in place. “And in case you were wondering, no, I don’t care to elaborate. Not yet.”

“Of course. I don’t mean to pry,” you say hastily. 

He turns away, but you hear him speak softly, almost a whisper. “Thank you for asking.” He grants you a sincere smile when he looks back, more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him. “I’m glad I got to discover such a special place, with you.”

OR BOLAS OR

You look from the deep love on his face as he continues taking in the room, follow his line of sight… and can’t really grasp what it is he’s seeing besides a big room full of stuff. “It’s nice to see you look happy.”

He blinks, and stares around at you with a renewed frown as if he’d forgotten you were there, what just happened. “Oh, ah, is that so unexpected?”

Something about his truly baffled expression puts you more at ease as you smile and shrug. “Brooding is kind of your style. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, I’ve had my fair share. But, you’ve got a nice smile, and you deserve moments of happiness.”

Something in him eases, melts, as he gives you that lingering smile in full bright light. “Maybe I’ll have more of those moments. If you’re here to remind me.”

Gods being friends with him was like whiplash. But there’s a deep sincerity in his tone, he really does mean it. “Every chance I get,” you promise. 

He grants you another sincere smile, more relaxed than you've ever seen him. “I’m glad I got to discover such a special place, with you.”

“Yeah?” You ask in surprise. “This is a pretty prefect moment. Two elves, digging up ancient elf secrets.”

“Exactly,” he agrees, and something sturdier returns to his face, settling him back into that cautious man you’ve grown so used to seeing, but his smile does linger. “Syrum, I do not mean to be so harsh with you. I understand you are, well, that I am…”

You just watch him with a miserable pit in your stomach as he trails off awkwardly, his hands clearly wishing to fidget for his sword, but not finishing the motion. He was too controlled to do something like fidget. You’re well aware what he’s apologizing for, but you can’t help him out anymore than you can bring yourself to apologize for it yourself. “It’s fine,” you try to brush off. “I get it-”

“It’s not fine,” Tyril says hastily. “You’ve been through a great ordeal Syrum, since your birth, and I haven’t exactly lived up to my promise, my vow I gave you I’d try to help. I have not, intentionally, been making this whole, situation we’ve found ourselves in, harder on you. I- I merely-”

“It’s not your responsibility to hold my hand,” you briskly insist, cutting your eyes awkwardly to a beautiful plush rug and back, shifting your weight awkwardly and wishing for him to drop it. You’d never have his elfine control of not being able to fidget… it was the human in you. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I’ll get Kade back and go back to Riverbend and we won’t be each other's problem anymore.”

“But I don’t-” Tyril stops himself though, and sighs. There’s a lot packed into that sigh. Whatever set him out away from Undermount, whatever caused him to be, like this… it ate at him every day as much as your brother's absence did to you. Who were you to judge if he needed some space and didn’t want to foster you under his wing every step of the way?

Before you could insist you’re fine, again, and then mentally smack yourself for repeating yourself too much, Tyril squares his shoulders and says firmly, “I, would like to consider us friends, Syrum, at least. Whatever the outcome at the end of this journey is, you have earned my respect ten fold. You are a man of your word, you are kind. I am honored to be doing this with you… two elves, saving the world, and digging up ancient elf secrets,” he tries to smile, but stops and coughs awkwardly. “Plus others, I mean, of course Imtura and Nia and Mal are vital, well, Mal is a bit-”

You can’t help but snort and burst out laughing amid your glowing pride for his words. He grins faintly in return. “I consider us friends too,” you quickly agree. “Plus others.” You can’t help but add on with a lingering grin, one he gratefully returns. “Speaking of, I do hope Nia is okay.” It’s an obvious change of subject, but one he readily agrees with as he nods and looks around.

“Absolutely. I may disapprove of how freely she expands her Light, but she may be the only other one who understands and appreciates what this palace represents to me.”

“She’s gonna love this,” you agree, already perfectly imagining her lurid pink dress darting around like a child exclaiming her new present to the whole town. 

Together, you both shout her name in hopes she’s close enough to hear… and your answer is a joyful cry back. Before you know it, you hear her rapid footsteps, and you can tell by their pat-pat she’s running towards you, not away from something by her sheer presence of radiance she always carries with her when she’s happy. When she shortly joins you by rounding the corner past the rocks with not even a second later, she’s marveling at the room right along with you both.

“This place is incredible!” Tyril was right on the money at her gasping for every little thing. “I can’t believe it’s still so intact! The other passage led to a dead end!”

“Tyril thinks it’s the inner sanctum of the temple. Imagine what it used to look like in its prime,” you agree with their excitement on principle at least, still struggling to imagine a room full of elves at all, let alone them bustling around about gods you could barely remember the name of unless you were really concentrating.

Nia’s pack wiggles, and Threep emerges, yawning wide. He blinks sleepily. “Are the princes gone yet? I feel a strange energy…” he gasps, his ears perking up, his eyes wide saucers of delight. “Where in the world have you taken me?”

“Oh, you know. Hidden ruins unsullied by the sands of time. Just the regular for us,” you grin.

“I’d like to think the Light protected this room from crumbling,” Nia says in wonderment, she can’t seem to stop herself moving with joy from one object to the next. She now has a little companion as invigorated as she is at her hip, not to mention Tyril’s proud smile upon her every step. “It just shows you can find the Light anywhere if you look!”

“It certainly used to be that way,” something of Tyril’s frown makes a reappearance, making him seem as ancient as that old golden plate the torches are gleaming off of. “Light flowed through the world as freely as the air we breathe.” He traces his hands along the wall, and Threep flutters onto his shoulder. Now there was a sight you surprisingly hadn’t seen yet. A solemness falls around the two of them. 

You can see elegant murals painted across the walls, dazzling scenes of elves long-gone, dancing in the light. Much like your new bow, if you stare at them and blink it almost appears as if they’re really moving.

“In the days before the Great War, the elves lived in majesty and wonder, a glorious civilization that spanned the world.” Tyril’s voice is an ancient wonder, the kind of weight even Kade’s could never hold for telling a story that had such personal stakes.

“I remember,” Threep whispers in solemn agreement. “Their cities reached into the skies. Their gardens grew wide as forests.”

“They lived peacefully, at one with the magic that flows through us all.” Tyril says with the harsh finality of the world you currently knew, his resentment for a world he’d never known evident.

“And then the Shadow Court came,” you can’t help but echo, your sense of deja vu weighing on you as heavy as your satchel as if you were still laughing along with Kade… but no more of that would be happening any time soon. Not with this ‘story.’

“A dozen elves, and they doomed us all,” Tyril said so bitterly, it was a wonder frost wasn’t upon his breath. “A secret council of powerful mages who sought forbidden power, mastery over life and death itself. In pursuit of this power, they cut a hole in reality itself, and found another world beyond. The Realm of Shadow. A place of darkness and monsters, ruled over by an unfathomable ancient evil…”

“The Dreadlord…” Nia finishes for him this time, your voice, your memories too thick to manage it, as if he’d needed the assistance from the both of you at all. You wonder if he thinks you don’t know the story, if this is for you, or himself, to never forget.

“The creatures of shadow invaded our world, and thus began the Great War, a war that spanned a century, that drenched the world in blood.” His hand is a fist now resting upon the mural.

“How did it end?” You ask, a flutter of amazement maring your words at a new detail you can’t quite strangle from your words. This was the part Kade always used to laugh, and make up… or you’d been thrown out of the bar long before now of course. “How did they win the first time?”

“No one knows,” Tyril sighs, his hand smoothing out to run the tips of his fingers over the wall, pressing his palm in tight as if trying to peel answers from the earth. “That story is lost to history. All we know is that the council of elves made one last heroic stand on the Field of Talenor. When the battle was done, the Realm of Shadow was sealed, and the denizens of the Shadow Court with it. And the elven civilization was destroyed.”

You shiver, unable to decide if that was tragic… or inspiring. You try your best to articulate both concepts. 

OR BOLAS OR

“That’s so, tragic,” you whisper for the story that had never been more than just a story for so long in your life… you can’t even remember the first time you’d heard it anymore it was just, so, common. 

“Indeed,” Threep murmurs, wings drooping as much as his ears, his tail, he’s never looked so small since you first found him. 

“A tragedy carved deep in the bones of our people.” Tyril agrees. “Even now, two thousand years later, that loss, that destruction, is a weight we carry on our shoulders every single day.” The way he slipped into the plural was probably natural to him. The way you wonder with guilt if that was the great distance between you two is something to dissect for another day as you, don’t. You'd always known yourself as an outsider among humans… but you didn’t suddenly, intrinsically feel responsible either for some doomed planet you had once ignorantly lived happily in.

Tyril looks around the great chamber, and for a moment it feels like he’s far away from you… and then he shakes his head clear. 

OR BOLAS OR

“That’s so, inspiring,” you try to somehow explain, knowing instantly the two think your nuts, and you don’t care. “In the face of insurmountable evil and darkness, the ancient elves stood strong and won. I find hope in that.”

“No matter the darkness, the Light always finds a way through,” Nia gets it, of course. She steps up beside you and threads her arm through yours with the same smile as always for sharing in that hope with you.

Tyril pauses, then nods. “It does.”

“It must,” Threep echoes.

Tyril looks around the great chamber, and for a moment it feels like he’s far away from you… and then he shakes his head clear. “Now then, we should probably get back.” He trails off as his hand stops on a stone slab. He stares at it for a moment thoughtfully. 

“What is it?” Threep peers curiously down from his shoulder. 

“These words, written in the ancient tongue…” he pauses and mouths them to himself for a moment before saying, “ IIdar dravulis, mitar mordala?”

And as he speaks, the stone pops open, revealing a hidden compartment. “Whoa!” You yelp, starling automatically, unsure whether to run for your life or towards Tyril for another rescue.

“It meant, ‘The Worthy Shall Find Their Gift Within’?” He doesn’t seem to believe his own tongue, he hasn’t moved.

“So? What’s inside?” Nia asks, already leaning forward eagerly to see.

He reaches in and removes a small orb, pulsing with dazzling white light. It fits snugly in the palm of his hand, and seems to swirl with something ancient trapped within… wind, or fog, moving sluggish, but noticeably.

You cringe and resist the urge to slap him, or the orb away at Tyril touching that with his bare hand. “What is it?” You ask, only stopping yourself from the look of yearning in Tyril’s eyes as he cups it closer with both hands, trembling the tiniest bit. 

“It, can’t be…” Threep gasps, wings jutting out to slap you for him. Tyril doesn’t even seem to notice as the nesper repositions himself in excitement with a little trill.

“A Sphere of Dan’taelyn. A weapon of the old war… incredibly powerful…” Tyril’s eyes might fall out of his head soon. You’re just grateful he’s translating enough to keep up with their shock and awe.

“There’s a storm of pure magic raging inside there!” Nia gasps, nearly pressing her nose against the glass eagerly.

“Do you want it?” He asks her, his fingers flexing over the little ball, but holding it towards her respectfully. You have no idea of the significance of the gesture, but smile all the same at how much he’d truly meant it before. He did respect all of your friends equally, you’d always known that.

“No,” Nia bites her lip, but shakes her head at once. “You’d better hold onto it. You know how to use battle magic better than I do.”

Tyril nods and slides the orb carefully into his satchel. 

“Do you think the temple wanted us to find it?” You ask, gazing around at that hole in the wall again with a raised brow. This day had gone pretty perfectly…

“I do now,” Tyril says with a winning smile at you.

“Undoubtedly!” Threep agrees, his wings still fluttering with excitement. He takes off and lands back in Nia’s arms, only to burrow back out of sight with happy little trills as if all this had been more than enough for a catnap. Together, you make your way out of the temple.

“Hey Tyril,” you say as you hear the others and give him a grin, you can’t shake the elated mood you now all carried, and you hope he doesn’t want to either. “Look at that, not a drop of blood in sight.” You spread your arms wide to prove your point.

To your astonishment, he throws his head back and laughs. Then he gently reaches over and ruffles your hair. The affectionate gesture leaves you stunned speechless. “That’s because you had me there. I always told Mal he was the trouble maker.”

“I heard that!” Mal calls, and you both can’t stop chuckling as you rejoin them all. “Well, did you find anything?” He asks eagerly.

“More than you can imagine,” Tyril says, nearly floating on air he was so buoyant. 

Mal blinks, clearly never having seen him so happy anymore than the rest of you.

Which makes the mood a tad incongruent as you continue walking, pressing further through the Deadwood beyond.

Soon enough, the sun begins to fade again overhead. “We’re almost to Undermount,” Tyril says with a longing sigh ahead, the mountain looming very close in the distance now. “But I’m afraid we’re going to have to spend another night in the Deadwood.”

“Will the drakna come again?” Nia asks with a weary look around.

“We’ll set up a secure camp and keep watch. Beyond that, all we can do is pray,” he responds with a smile just for her. She’s quick to do so back and even giggles.

“Is that elf always so cheery?” Baldur scoffs.

“This is him on a good day,” Mal’s mocking assurance and eye roll never wear off.

“So, where do we make camp?” Imtura asks, looking around at the options, but still unpleasantly aware she was out of her element. 

“By the water,” you decide.

“What water? I don’t see any-” Baldur begins scathingly.

“Look at the way the foliage is curving,” you pleasantly interrupt as if schooling a child. “It’s drawing toward a water source.”

“You, you can tell that just by looking at it?” He doesn’t seem sure whether he should believe you or if you’re mocking him. 

“I know my woods,” you smirk. 

“That’s impressive!” Aerin says in delight, clutching your arm. “Please, show us the way.”

Gently extracting your arm and trying not to let a strut show, you lead the group down a steep hill until you reach a break in the trees-

Where you find a tranquil clearing with willowy trees framing a beautiful sparkling lake. It glows shades of purple and blue almost painfully bright after so much darkness of the forest. The trees are still bare, but there’s a feeling in the air here. Another pocket of beauty not yet desecrated.

“Hey, now we’re talking,” Mal grins in relief. 

“This is, marvelous!” Aerin’s voice is aquiver with excitement and joy, and you share a grin with him. You’d almost forgotten what experiencing something new could feel like without some accompanying horror… you’re almost taken back to that moment you first saw the ocean and Mal’s kind smile on you. “What is this place?” He’s back to clutching your arm eagerly. “There’s flora blooming all over the ground!”

Tyril dips a hand in the water, and it comes back sparkling with a delicate light. “This lake is rich with magic, a deep rift of the Light. It infuses this whole clearing.”

“It’s beautiful,” Nia sighs, doing a little spin with her fingers extended like a fairy of elden tails about to take flight. 

“Eh, not bad,” Imtura grunts, but you muffle a snort at hearing even she’s enthralled. It might not be the ocean, but she knew something amazing when she saw it.

“Will we be safe here Tyril?” You ask hopefully. 

“Safer,” he agrees, eyes traveling back up the way you came and giving you a grateful nod. 

“Right then, let's pitch the tents,” Mal says with an obvious yawn. 

“You must be joking,” Baldur switches his gaze from a nearby log covered in moss to Mal without a change in expression. “I will not partake in something so utterly barbaric.”

“I’ll help!” Aerin gives your arm a little shake. “I love putting things together. I have a particular talent for solving puzzles!”

“You know what, as far as princes go, you’re not half bad,” Mal says with a kind smile on him.

You laugh in agreement as Aerin helps arrange camp while Baldur leans arrogantly against a tree. After your tent is set up, you get up and stretch your legs, and that’s when you notice Imtura. 

“Hrah!” She’s off on her own beside the lake, practicing her fighting technique. She moves with an impossible grace as she flows through different stances. This isn’t the first time you’ve seen her do it on your walk to the Deadwood, but it is the first time you really have the courage to go over and talk to her without worrying how she’d laugh at you.

“Woah,” you utter, rather glad you were alone and Aerin had found somewhere else to be at the moment as you flush warm all over for her magnificent form on display. 

She catches you watching, and bobs her head with a wink. “See something you like?”

“Every damn day lately,” you say without hesitation. Her grin widens as you walk closer. “What is it that you’re doing exactly?”

“It’s called the Kaytar. The Zephyr and the Boulder forms. It’s the fighting style of all Tal Kaelen orcs.” She says with pride.

“Why Zephyr and Boulder?” You ask, clearly hearing something of significance in there.

“Cuz you’re as intangible as the wind, right up until the moment you SMASH with the force of a boulder,” she waves her fist in the air, her knuckles a moment from your nose. You hadn’t even seen her shift her weight. Your stomach drops, and your blood soars. She tips her head to the side and eyes you. “I could train ya, if you wanted. Show you a move or two again?”

“Yeah?” You agree. “I didn’t embarrass myself to bad last time?”

“If we’re going up against this Shadow Court, you’ll need every advantage you can get,” she says seriously. Okay, but that hadn’t been a no- “Plus, it’d make you the first elf to know the Kaytar, so, consider this a once in a lifetime offer.” She sweetens the pot, having still moved closer.

As if you were even capable of doing anything other than saying, “teach me.” And then, just to sweeten the pot, you can’t help but give her a smile and add, “I do love getting physical.”

She laughed, rotating her jaw around, already brimming with excitement. “You mean I didn’t wear you out last night? I'll have to try harder next time…” she reaches up and runs her fingers gently against your chin. Your lips part in memory, tingling pleasantly-

“Can’t wait,” you assure around your thundering heart. “Now, let’s see what you got?” As if you weren’t intimately aware of everything she’s got by now…

“All right,” she agrees, snapping back to business and dropping her hand. “First up is the Zephyr form. It’s all about movements, body placement. We orcs are quick on our feet. Makes our size more fearsome.”

“I’ve noticed,” you breathlessly agree.

She gives you a wink, but continues unperturbed. “We live on the water, so we make the fluidity part of our movements. Knowing when to ebb, when to flow. When to move fast, when to move slow.”

“Didn’t take you for a poet,” you admire at the cadence building in her voice, the love pouring into her words. You can only imagine what else she’d learned from Skullcrusher aside from impressive arm wrestling abilities. 

Her grin widens at you. “You’ve got a lot to learn about me, landrat. Now, c’mon, let’s get you into a Zephyr stance.”

You imitate the stance she shows you, partially crouching, knees loose, abdomen engaged. 

“It’s all about placing your body weight so you can move quick as a breeze.” She nods, circling you. “Pretty good, but lemme make a few adjustments?”

You nod, and she steps close behind you, her arms sliding along yours- and then she jams her knee into the back of yours. 

“Oof!” You yelp in surprise, your whole body fighting to wobble and topple you over, but you’ve already adjusted and gotten yourself balanced back before she’s even stepped away.

“There we go, see how easy you can move in that stance?” She grins.

Lightness rushes through your body, every muscle ready to spring at a moment’s notice under her eyes. “Yeah! I’m not even moving but I feel, fast?”

She laughs in agreement. “Perfect. Now use that speed to dodge this!”

Imtura rushes toward you, and your muscles flex, your body reacting on instinct. You spin right under her arm into her blind spot, tightening your abdomen, and pivot behind her before she can skid to a stop. You bring a finger between her shoulder blades, and poke. “Got ya.”

Her roar of laughter might attract the most fearsome of predators in challenge, or scare it away to the other side of the world. You really don't care. “You’re a hell of a fast learner Syrum. Impress me again and I might even call you a natural.”

“You and those compliments. However will I burst my ego,” you smirk with a wavy errant hand.

“All right, next up is Boulder.” She presses on with a smirk of her own. “It’s all about using your body weight to strike quick and hard.” She raises her eyebrows at you knowingly. “We know a thing or two about quick and hard, don’t we?”

“You keep flirting with me during this lesson, and I won’t learn a thing,” you cannot say without a deep lust in your voice of whatever comes next.

She shakes her head with a sigh but moves on. You’re almost disappointed. “We Kaytar fighters get a lot of use out of the flat hand strikes, the kicks, and the shoulders. You got one you’re interested in learning more about?”

The glove she’d once given you, or really, you’d stolen from her is still safely in your pack, and you weren’t really worried about packing a punch if the need arose when you could slip that on. Having always been agile and fast though, you were intrigued on how to improve something else. “Kicking stronger? I mean, it sounds pretty self-explanatory. You just kick whatever’s in your way, right?”

“Spoken like a true landrat,” she shakes her head. “That, Syrum, is how you break your toes.”

“Okay. Let’s not do that. I am listening,” you attentivly promise.

“You gotta know where to aim, which part of your foot to use. The heel’s good for smashing things in, like if you gotta get through a door. You wanna take someone out from behind? Hook where the top of your foot meets your ankle right around their knee, and they’re down.” She turns around, grinning at you over her shoulder. “C’mon, make me weak in the knees.”

The challenge in her almost makes you think this is a double cross. “You want me to do that to you?”

“You get someone on the ground during a fight, and you’ve basically won. C’mon, knock me down. If you can.” She insists with all the pleasantness of a poisonous flower. She still might kill you, but it might still be worth it to go out like that.

You take a breath. First you position your weight like she taught you during the Zephyr, and then you strike! “RAH!” With all your weight balanced, you plant your foot, hooking into the back of her knee, and it buckles! She falls to one with an, “oof,” of surprise.

“Did, did I hurt you?” You pant in surprise, rolling quickly away. “Did, I, do it? Oh gods, it worked, just like you said. I did it!”

She’s still on her knee before you, looking up at you with great surprise, and a full smile. It is a sight you don’t think you ever could have imagined before this moment that does very strange things to you. “I didn’t actually think you’d be able to. You’re getting good at this. I’d say you’re ready for a real fight.” A wicked gleam enters her eyes.

“Wait, what are you-”

There’s not a second to process the mingled abject terror and delight that courses through you as she charges forward with a, “RRAAHH!”

She bolts, but your body finds its pose naturally, speed coursing through you. Without a second of hesitation, your confidence naturally flows through you into a spin out of her path again. She whirls around, lashing out with a fist. You naturally go on the offense at the presented opening, ducking beneath her blow, then use the flat of your foot to kick her exposed side. She trips several steps back.

“Looks like you need to keep up,” you laugh in delight, feeling weightless as you balance eagerly for more.

“Wooo boy!” She’s shaking her hair out of her eyes and can’t stop smiling, even rubbing her side for a moment. “Look at you, landrat. But you don’t stand a chance against me yet.” Fast as a whip, she slings one arm around your neck and spins you around, catching you in a stranglehold as you tumble to the ground in a controlled fall.

With a spluttering, “whoa!” you hit the ground hard, and she pounces on top of you, pinning you beneath her. Your breath floods out of you, mingling with hers. 

“You’re learnin’ quick. You might even stand a chance…” she grins down at you, breathing just as hard, tendrils of hair sticking to the sweat on both of your faces mingling together in a mesmerizing pattern. “Against a lesser foe, of course.”

You can’t stop breathing her in from how close she is. The very air around her is shimmering, blasting heat against your skin, you can feel the temperature of her body bearing down on yours, her face a mere inch away from yours once more. 

“Suppose I ought to get up?” She asks.

“I think you’re right where I want you to be,” you assure.

With a hearty laugh, she seizes your wrists and pins them above your head again, lowering her face somehow closer, her lips tickling, trailing, but still not quite pressing down. You long to feel her tusks again… “Seein’ how I’ve been meaning to keep you strung up like this since we met, I’d still say I won.”

“Then I’ll let you win more often,” you all but purr.

Her eyes flicker to your lips, and she grins, teasing, giving your wrists one last squeeze, before she stands back up. “I’ll have to take you up on that real soon Syrum. Unfortunately, I think we’d better get back to the others.”

You lay in the dirt, more disoriented from her weight being gone than how you’d wound up there in the first place with a great, flustering sigh… but you stand up with a groan and distantly hear your friends bickering over look-out assignments. “Right. That.” You resist the urge to take her hand at least… but you weren’t sure where to go from here either, so you instead say, “thanks for the lesson, Imtura. I’ll appreciate it even more once the bruises fade I’m sure.” As if you wouldn’t be poking them later and trying not to-

She cracks her knuckles with a chuckle. “Pleasure's all mine. Let’s do it again sometime.”

“Just say the word,” you agree, walking back with her to camp, arms brushing, causing a lingering burn in your muscles, confident in every step.

You rejoin the others at your campground. Everyone is settling in for the night, with Tyril keeping watch, when- 

“Everyone look out! Across the lake!” Aerin all but screams as his eyes dart around in the darkness.

You don’t have a moment to doubt him. A creature appears at the water's edge. It looks like a horse, but as it lowers its neck to lap at the shimmering water, you spot the horn jutting from its forehead!

It is a real, glorified, mythical, unicorn. Its coat is alabaster white, its mane shimmering iridescent rainbow in the moonlight every shade of white and silver with a hint of the rest of the world bouncing off each other. 

Mal’s blinking painfully at the sight, even rubbing his eyes. “Are all the lake sparkles messing with my eyes, or is that a unicorn?”

“That’s, impossible!” Nia’s on her knees, though you’re not sure if she’s sunken into a bow or she’s just unable to move from crawling out of her tent. “I read that they went extinct after the Dreadlord destroyed these woods!”

The unicorn doesn’t seem particularly extinct as it continues drinking.

“It must have been protected by the same wards that protect this lake,” Tyril says, he’s actually pressing his hand to his heart. “Its presence bodes well for our quest-” he’s smiling so bright, you’ve seen him happier today than you ever could have imagined-

“Bodes well for my trophy room, you mean!” Baldur’s leapt to his feet. Before you can react, he nocks an arrow into his bow and takes aim.

White hot fury slams into you, your vision going red as you shout, “NO!” You dive towards him, trying to knock the bow out of his hands.

“How dare you peasant!” He manages to let the arrow fly as you crash into him.

“NO!” Nia’s scream echoes the cacophony of other shouts now.

You look around, cringing, waiting to hear the tell-tell scream of the unicorn, but the impact never comes. 

Aerin stands before you, his eyes wide, clutching the arrow shaft in one fist.

…”Did- did you just, catch, that arrow?” You wonder if you’d crashed into a pile of rocks and slammed your head against something else… though it wouldn’t be a wild difference to the person you did-

“I, I don’t know how, I just, reacted,” Aerin said, just as stunned blank as you as he stares down at the shaft.

“NNrnngh!” Across the lake, the unicorn stares at your party, nostril’s flaring, then canters off into the woods.

“That was my kill you little bastard!” Bladur tries to kick you away, though you roll aside before his boot can impact, and watch with utter contempt as he gets up to shove his brother and snatch his arrow out of his hand.

“How, on earth, did you do that Aerin?” you ask, panting slightly as you get slowly to your feet, eyes flickering between the two brothers and honestly not sure what you want to do more, skin Baldur alive, or somehow study Aerin’s mind. At least the latter is easier to focus on than causing a regicide and war with the elves and humans.

“Is it really so hard to believe?” He asks, angry for the first time, utterly wounded as he stares at you. “My reflexes are well-honed after a life with him as my brother.” The implication there makes your stomach clench with stress as Aerin glares at Baldur. “I’ve learned how to defend myself, I just wish that I’d started defending others sooner.”

“Oh, how noble of you little brother,” Baldur says with a disgusting twisted thing of a smile. 

“Back off!” You rush to jump in front of Aerin. “You have no right to treat your own brother that way! Just like you had no right to try to kill that unicorn!”

“I can do whatever I want!” Baldur steps towards you, hand trembling with rage. You watch carefully without batting an eye for where that hand will go. “I’m your prince!”

“You’re a monster,” you spit back.

“Hah! And I should listen to some cut-rate, lowlife, dalloping whore of a mercenary?!” He laughs derisively, tense, ready to spring.

“I-” something in you freezes in shock… you’d never been called that, but you knew that word, shouted after men and women heading into, and out of brothels, or so you heard whispered… did you know what that word meant? It was the image you’d presented yourself as, in theory, but something of his sickening tone slams into you as you realize he very well could be referring to the open display you’d just had with Imtura-

“Syrum’s right Baldur!” Aerin stumbles, but he’s beside you. “The way you act is an embarrassment to the Valleros name. It’s despicable-”

He finally lunged, but not where you’d expected. Baldur strikes his little brother across the jaw with the back of his hand, one of the many rings on his hand gouging a deep cut in place.

Aerin reals back with an, “argh!”

“Ka-?!” You see Aerin press his hand to his face, but there’s not a flicker of surprise there really as whatever horrors your mind is trying to wrap you up in settle back quickly to reality. Out of the corner of your eye you can see Tyril has a hand on Mal’s shoulder, whispering, “relax, he’s got this-” as well as Imtura with both hand’s on Nia’s shoulders, but it’s all background noise as you crouch in place.

 In a blind whirl, you snatch for the little whelps wrist, but he moves back with a blood red face, sure footed. At minimum, he has had training. More than you. “You don’t deserve to be king!”

“Yes, well, I’m going to be,” he sneers. “And unless you want to spend the rest of your life staring at a dungeon wall, you’d better learn to show some respect!” He stalks off into a tent. Aerin glowers after him, still rubbing his jaw, a little rivulet of red between his fingers.

You’re shaking with rage, every instinct in you screaming to run after and tear the head off of that guy, shove that crown up his- but something else wins out as you turn in concern back to the lost little brother.

“Want me to go rearrange your brother’s face?” Imtura asks not unkindly as you step towards Aerin gently. “I’ll do it, and gladly.” She’s released Nia, and you realize belatedly she’d been holding the priestess back. From doing what exactly, your imagination is really running to wild to cobble together.

“He’s, he’s not worth the effort,” Aerin chokes out. He’s trying desperately not to look at any of you. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“I’m sorry that your brother treats you that way,” Nia says in the same choked voice, she looks moments away from flinging her arms around Aerin to hug him close. “I didn’t know family could be so, so cruel to each other.”

“Not even a 100 gold would make it worth putting up with his arrogant ass,” Mal agrees in pure contempt. “Can we just feed him to the drakna?”

Tyril regards Aerin with crossed arms, his expression unreadable. “You humans would be foolish putting your brother on the throne. You strike me as a much better prince.”

Aerin looks like Tyril had taken a turn smacking him next. “But, I’m not-”

“Tyril’s right,” you gently put your hand on his arm, honestly hoping he’d hear you as more than a joke. “You haven’t turned your nose up to us, you saved that unicorn. You’re a lot nobler than Baldur could ever be.”

For a second you think he’ll smile, but then bitterness flashes across his face. He jerks his arm away and glares into the darkness. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I’ve already accepted my place. And it’s in my brother's shadow.”

Your throat swells shut in pain for him. There’s a heavy sense of unease in the air as your friends wander off, resuming setting up the night for camp. Aerin settles on a log, rubbing his jaw.

“Let me at least make you a compress,” you offer bleakly.

“You don’t have to-”

“I know, but I want to.” You assure. “Besides, it’s the least I can do.”

He blinks up at you, doe eyed, and you take that as a yes as you gather up several herbs out of your bag and put them in a small compress, which you hand to him. Aerin presses it to his jaw. 

“Ah, that does help.” He grins, but it looks a bit of a mess. His jaw is already starting to shade in a bruising color.

“I knew it would,” you say, crouching in front of him with a sad smile. “For the record, I’m on board with Mal’s feed Baldur to the darkna plan. You know. If you’re interested.”

You’re not sure if he takes it as a joke, a part of you really does mean it as angry as you still are to your core seeing him in this state, but Aerin just shakes his head with a lingering smile. “I’ll admit that sounds tempting, but, all the questions I’d have to answer back at court don’t. More than that, I just wish he would change. Open his eyes to the world. Set aside some of his pride.” He lets out a deep, blustering sigh he’d probably been holding in all his life. “Be a good brother,” he finishes on a small whisper nearly caught in the wind.

He stands up before you can do more than let your heart ache and wrap him in a hug as you desperately want to.

“I’m going to take a walk around the lake, clear my head.” His eyes meet yours, and for a second you see something in them, a hint of connection. Of hidden depths. “Would you care to join me?”

“You wouldn’t mind company?” You confirm, not really following. “Mine?”

“Not at all,” he agrees earnestly. “You seem like a wise soul, not to mention kind. Your company would be welcome.”

OR BOLAS OR

You can’t help but say yes without further question. Anything he needs from you right now, even if it was just to walk in silence. “I’d be happy to accompany you,” you readily agree. 

Aerin smiles at you, genuine but with a hint of sadness. “Thank you, Syrum.” He takes off, strolling along the shore of the dazzling lake as it reflects the night stars side by side with you. “I didn’t expect to find something so beautiful at the heart of the Deadwood. It makes me think of what other wonders are out there, just waiting to be found in the shadow!”

You laugh in agreement, resisting the urge to throw your arm over him still and hold him close at the raw excitement in his voice you could still hear in your own, though it grew rarer by the day. “Or waiting to be restored,” you grandly agree, looking all around.

He looks at you thoughtfully. “The scholars at Whitetower say that what is lost cannot be restored. Once something's corrupted, it’s impossible to bring it back to the Light.”

You clench your hand around your satchel uncomfortably. You can hear the force behind your own words. “I don’t think that’s true. It’s possible to purify things, even after they've been corrupted by shadow… at least, I have to believe that’s true…”

“You seem quite invested in learning about purification,” Aerin says, obviously noting the sudden seriousness, and darkness in your own voice.

You waver on the spot whether to tell him about Kade or not… but can’t imagine the harm really. Not from him. “Well, the truth is, I fear my brother might be lost to the shadows.”

“Really? How did that come to be?” He’s startled, he’s looking at you in a brand new light.

You hesitate, biting your lip. Gods, you were so tired of telling this story with no end in sight…

“You don’t have to talk about it if it’s too painful,” Aerin says gently, putting his hand on your shoulder. 

You manage a robust sigh and shake yourself off. “I’m going to do everything I can to save him. And I believe he can be saved. I know he can.”

He drops his hand, and gives you a friendly nudge with a reassuring smile. “In the brief time I’ve known you, I can see how capable you are. I know you’ll accomplish anything you set out to do.”

You’re smiling back at him when his eyes suddenly widen. “Look! An indigo moonbloom! I thought these were extinct!”

Aerin rushes toward the lakeside, where a rocky outcropping shelters a viny bush of deep purple flowers. As he bends down to study them up close, the petals start to stretch open, turning their faces toward the full moon. 

“This is amazing,” you gasp. “They’re just like that unicorn, preserved by whatever makes this place so special.”

He reaches out and taps his fingertip to one of the velvety petals. The flower shudders and turns toward him before facing the moon again. “Their petals can be ground up and brewed into an elixir said to heal the deepest corruption,” you can hear the smile in his voice, and the way it trickles off as he continues hovering his fingers in place. “But these may be the last moonblooms left in all the realms. It’d be a shame to destroy them.”

Aerin contemplates for a moment, then suddenly pulls off his boots. “I shall sit here and admire them as long as I can then!” He slips his feet into the shimmering water at the lakeside. “You only get to dip your feet in one magically preserved lake in your life, right? Join me!”

You laugh in delight and quickly follow. “If you insist.” You take off your own shoes and sit in the grass. The cool water is refreshing as you slip your feet in. 

He begins gently kicking his feet, sending splashes over the water as he smiles down at the moonblooms.

A mischievous little feeling clouds your mind you hadn’t acted on in so long… but there’s no harm in it… it’s not as if you can’t play with anyone in the water other than Kade your whole life… and you vividly remember doing the same to Mal. You hadn’t forgotten Kade, the world hadn’t ended.

Seizing the thought and refusing to keep dwelling, drowning, you give Aerin an innocent smile. “Hey, check this out.”

“Hm? What-” he turns around just as you perfectly flick the water off your fingers right into his face. “Hey!” He sputters. Then, before you can even finish your first breath of laugh, you hear, “take this!”

With an invigorated grin, he flicks water right back at you. You throw your hands up to defend yourself breathlessly. “Ah! I wasn’t expecting such a quick comeback!”

“That’s where you went wrong! We princes are trained for any kind of combat!” Aerin says with a pleased smile and a royal shake of his head. His crown wriggles in place upon his ears. 

The two of you flick water at each other with a fervor, your laughter spiraling up into the night. “Okay, truce! My fingers are cramping!” You plead between giggles.

Aerin shakes droplets of water out of his hair, making the air shimmer around him. “You know, this isn’t extremely princely of me,” he says, sounding quite bemused with himself as he rubs his hand on his still glistening robes threaded in red and gold as bright as the stars. Like Nia’s attire, you can’t even imagine what it’s made of to be so sturdy, clean, bright, after what must have been weeks of travel.

“I’m so curious,” you admit. “What’s the first thing you're going to do when you get back?”

He shrugs, casting his gaze up at the stars. “Same as I always do, I suppose. Try my best to smooth over my brother’s brash decisions as he prepares to rule.”

It’s like he sucked all the joy back out of the world, as the darkness seeps back in around you both. “You said you hoped to be one of his advisers on his council,” you sigh in agreement. “Does it do any good?”

“Yes, I’d be able to prevent him from making a lot of mistakes.” Aerin said adamantly. “But, that implies that he’ll actually listen to me…” he trails off with a clearly miserable idea of how that would work out, his face morphing into his own anger. His face colored red just like Baldur’s. “I’ll just have to try to do everything I can until then, and for that, I need knowledge.” 

An impish grin alights his face suddenly. “What about you Syrum?” It’s a clear change of subject, and you can't really blame him. “What will you do after collecting your reward from Lord Gillbottle? Will you be staying in Whitetower?”

“I,” the weight of that answer feels far to heavy for the light, lie of a question it really is. You hitch a smile back into place, giving an answer you assume is expected… because the true knot of it is one you’re to scared to deal with otherwise. “I’ll seek out more adventure of course! I think there’s plenty more to do once my party’s finished with Lord-”

Aerin cuts you off with a snort. 

“What’s so funny?” You ask in surprise, your mind scrabbling madly for what you did wrong, Kade always saw right through your little jokes-

“Syrum, I know you know there’s no Lord Gillbottle.” Aerin gives you a leveled look.

“You- you know that huh?” You ask sheepishly, really not that surprised now that you think about it. Aerin, unlike his brother, would be the kind to know all the lordlings that came and went.

“Knew from the second I heard it,” he agrees with a chuckle. “But don’t worry, Baldur hasn’t a clue. In case you haven't noticed, he isn’t all that bright.”

“Believe me, it shows,” you snort with derision. “But, why are you keeping our secret?”

“I figure what you do is none of my business,” he shrugs. “I’m just happy we found you in these woods, so we didn’t have to keep traveling alone.”

Yeah, that was a fair trade. You struggle to swallow a moment as you look out at the rest of the woods, the ways you still had to go. “I hope we make it to Undermount soon. My brother’s life is on the line.”

Aerin takes your hands in his as he gazes into your eyes. You’re so startled, you squeeze back automatically. “I fear there are more trials to come, for all of us.” - you want to pull back- “but you’re strong Syrum. Don’t lose hope.”

His kindness is a welcoming balm to your ravaged mental state after the day you’ve had to spend around him. It does you no good to strain yourself, constantly wishing to see Kade out of the corner of your eye, wondering what he’d say… and the ever growing feeling of getting used to the silence. You find yourself nearly blinking away tears as you look at Aerin. “I’ll try not to, thank you.”

“I should be thanking you,” he says seriously, still holding onto your hand. “For taking the time to speak with me. I’d forgotten how nice it is to be able to open up to someone. To lower my guard, and simply be myself.”

Gods, he really was hitting you right where it hurt. “You must constantly be on the defense at the palace, alone.” The bruise his own brother had given him was forming nicely upon his jaw, mottling it, swelling. The only thing stopping it from being gruesome was the herbs you’d given him.

“It can be exhausting,” he agrees cheerfully. “But I’m glad to know you understand me Syrum.” He tilts his soft gaze up toward yours. His expression is full of lingering sorrow, but also full of compassion. You can’t help but let go of his hand, and pull him into a hug. 

“Oh,” he manages a startled little yelp, but wraps his arms kindly around you back.

“I’m glad we understand each other Aerin,” you murmur.

He smiles shyly as you release him and wraps his arms around himself. “Unfortunately, we should probably return. But, thank you for sharing this time with me.” He pauses for a moment, then fiddles with his hand, before handing you something sparkling and gold. “I want you to have this.”

It was a beautiful golden ring, with the royal seal pressed in. Like a bizarre pumpkin-strawberry hybrid, vines and leaves all around its middle where the seeds showed. 

“It bears the sigil of my royal line. If you ever are in trouble, show it to whoever’s in charge. They’ll know you’re protected.” He says with faint, actual pride for his blood for once.

“Thank you,” you murmur, clutching your hand tight around it. “I’ll treasure it.” You tuck the ring into your bag and make your way back to the camp where most of your companions are already asleep. 

“Sleep well, Syrum,” Aerin murmurs, before bravely going off to bed down in his brother's tent. The inevitability of watching that makes you feel powerless as you clutch your satchel and bite back a sob.

You watch him go with a painful feeling of regret, for yourself, for him. You cannot stand to be alone right now, so you tentatively go towards the one tent you long to be in, and screw anyone else who had something to say about it. You give the flap a gentle push, whispering, “it’s me, can I come in?”

There’s a rough snort you imagine for a moment is her snoring, startling awake, and you cringe back, but then her voice murmurs back without a trace of surprise, “of course.”

You duck inside without further hesitation, but make your way hesitantly to her side. She’s as dressed down as she usually is when she beds for the night. That is to say, still in full kilt leather and furs. Her skin must be amazingly thick, even more than you’d originally assumed. You usually have to at least take off the leather vest to get comfortable, depending on your exhaustion level. 

“How’d the walk with the princling go?” She asks, nothing but kindness, and a hint of worry in her voice in the dark, one arm casually behind her head as she watches you.

“About as well as could be expected,” you grumble, your tone full of bitterness for the world. “Did Mal smother Baldur in his sleep yet?”

Her laugh brings a welcoming smile out of you you’d sorely needed. “Haven’t heard anything yet, but I won’t be surprised.” She raises her other arm invitingly, and your smile widens, going forward and pressing into her side. She sighs, a sound of relief as her arm drops back around your waist, holding you close. 

There’s silence for a moment, but it’s not awkward, not the least bit presumptuous. She’s just waiting as your fingers alternatively tangle and pet her furs and her hair, and the painful words finally bubble out in the safety of her embrace. “I don’t know how to live without him. I hate that I’m getting used to it, or worse, that I’m not. I don’t know, I-” Imtura gently squeezes your hip, pressing you closer. You bury your face in the crook of her neck. “I feel like such an idiot, I know I’m, that I-”

“Shh,” she murmurs gently, giving you a little jostle. “Not your fault, it’s normal for family to hurt a new way every day. I know what it’s like to love someone that makes it as hard as possible to do so from afar.”

You’re shaking just a bit, but your breathing evens out quickly under her as your breaths slowly match hers. She stills smells of the salty sea, and something richer, deeper, all her own. You wonder if she can even feel you practically lying on top of her, your hands clutching the soft velvet of her furs like a lifeline, but the way her body shifts gently every time yours does to keep you close sort of answers that as you close your eyes and drift off to a gentle sleep.

OR BOLAS OR

… but honestly, you need a moment to clear your own head after all that too. “Sorry, but, I need a moment too. Be careful out there though. We don’t know what’s on the other side of that lake.” You tell Aerin. 

He nods, looking a tad dejected, but heads off. 

You settle in for the night, sharing a tent with Nia, listening to the spooky sounds of the Deadwood far in the distance as the serene lake laps at the shore nearby. 

When you wake up, you find yourself wedged in tight under Imtura’s arm still, and you have to once again wriggle free of her good grip with a mild laugh of delight you’re trying to keep muffled- but something’s wrong.

Something’s, sticky- too tight- cold- wet- all around you-

You realize you aren’t pinned in by her at all… but by a tightly wrapped cocoon, clinging to your skin as you begin wrestling in place. 

“Imtura? Nia! Mal? Tyril! Aerin-” Just barely through the thick material obscuring your eyes, you swear you can see lumpy cocoons dotting the sprawling drakna web where you’ve been trapped.

And in the distance, you hear the buzzing of angry wings.

“HELP!” The raw scream of shock and horror wrenches out of you.

 It is met with silence.

[stringoflights93]

Chapter 7: The Deadwood

Tyril remained in silence all the way back to the ship and excused himself to be alone the moment you were back aboard the Wraith. It was disappointing, but not altogether unexpected as you watched his silhouette… you even got to learn how to row out of it alongside Imtura. It was exhausting and a new strain upon your back and shoulder muscles you’d once thought iron hard from your years with a bow, but worth it.

The feeling of release every time the boat moved, the way Imtura kept grinning over at you to gently correct your tactic, the way the air whooshed in and out of your lungs filled with invigorating salt and life.

Nia was eager to help Imtura how she could getting the Wraith underway, and you saw the first hand pull her aside to begin teaching her navigation while the captain kept things in order with stern delegation.

You longed to collapse into a hammock yourself after the day you’ve had that feels as if it’s lasted an entire week, your muscles still tremble with seven new kinds of exhaustion and terror and there’s a nightmare waiting to pounce, but you have something important to do first.

Mal’s in his usual haunt up in the crow’s nest. He’s all but made it his own slice of home he’s staked his claim up here so often. You see him winding bandages around his shredded hand and feel your stomach clench, and solidify its resolve as he gives you a surprised nod. 

Wordlessly, you pull some herbs out of your pack and offer them to him. 

He hesitates for a moment, but then accepts them and expertly adds it to his own self-care. “Something I can help you with kit? Thought you’d have collapsed and I’d find you passed out on the toilet, and not even in the fun way.”

“I need you to promise me something Mal,” you say without further hesitation, your grasp on your bag solidly real fills you with the same iron determination that had gotten you this far.

“Oh?” Mal quirks a brow, you can see a joke forming as he takes in your serious demeanor. “Whatever could that be? My eternal gratitude getting you this far isn’t enough-”

“I need you to promise that if anything happens to me, you’ll take this.” You needlessly shake your satchel, and he knows exactly what you’re talking about. “That you’ll get Kade out, no matter what.”

The way his jaw goes slack might have been a delightful moment of shocking him into silence any other time. But he winds back up fast enough, shaking his head, scoffing and waving his hand around so the un-tied bandages flutter as he looks away, “relax Syrum, nothing is going to happen to you-”

“Promise me Mal!” You grip his arm tight, not letting him look away from your eyes. “I’ve lost count of the amount of times I’ve nearly died, today’s just been the most recent! Nia and Tyril, they’re in this to save the world. Imtura’s never met Kade, and, she isn’t you! She’s never even met him- You’re a survivor, you’ve made that more than obvious! I need to know that if something happens to me, someone else will get him out of that place! I, I can’t bare the idea of- that he’ll think I abandoned him-”

“Okay, okay,” Mal gently places his hand over yours, and nods. “As ridiculous as this promise is, you have my vow. I’ll never stop trying to get Kade out of the shadow realm, but it’s a silly thing, because you’re going to be right there with me when that happens.”

You sigh in relief all the same, and then fling your arms around him. He doesn't hesitate to hug you back, patting your shoulder gently. “All right kit, let it out, it’s okay.” You hadn’t realized you’d been crying, and you don’t care as you press your face into his shoulder and stay like that as exhaustion finally wins out. 

The nightmare does come, same as it always has. Just blackness. Kade’s screaming your name, pleading for help, but all you can do is stand there frozen, doing nothing as your hand is outstretched. Now, there is a change. You’re hand is glowing… but it illuminates only unknown faces, the shadows take form into darkness of substance laughing at you through skulls and nothingness as Kade’s screams echo in the shattering darkness of your world collapsing-

You startle awake propped against the warm wood of the crows nest, a blanket thrown over you. It’s dark out now, but it hasn’t been long judging by the moon still glimmering on the edge of the horizon. 

Everything hurts as you stretch and sit up, but you don’t really care that your hands are shaking just a bit, that something pops as you force your knees to get you moving, that your muscles feel like someone had yanked them out and shoved them back in as a twisted ball. You just force one foot over the other as you swing yourself down and find out where you’re headed next.

You find your friends among the rest of the crew merrily enjoying this most recent victory. It’s a full blown party among the duties of keeping the Wraith going full speed, honestly it is insane now that you’re awake you were sleeping through it all. 

Attendance is one short though, and he’s the one you really want to talk to next as you watch Nia and Imtura laughing together, showing each other dance moves. Nia looks so small and fragile under Imtura’s huge hands, but their smiles are equally delightful as the pink of her dress and her furs mix together in the crowd.

Mal’s at the center of a large group, telling another of his many insane stories. His bandaged hand is seeping a little red, but he doesn’t seem to notice or care as he waves his fingers energetically. You smile to yourself, recognizing the escape of the dragon den adventure from just that little tick he gave his fingers pinching together.

So you turn away, and find him down in the scullery. He’s inspecting a bag of potatoes with faint disinterest.

“Oh, you’re awake,” he looks over at you with a mild smile. “Mal made it seem as if he’d struck you over the head and knocked you unconscious for the next week.”

“Probably could have, almost wish he had,” you agree around a yawn, still stretching… your heart is jolting in your chest as you wait for him to say something, but he doesn’t. With a sigh, you bluntly address him as your hand curls inside your pocket where the gemstone Nia had given you still presides. “So, I did magic.”

“Yes,” he agrees, but the icy wall of his words is already trying to slam shut this conversation. “I saw, it was quite impressive. You did well disposing of that minion.”

There’s sincerity in his words, but that’s it. He’s already turned back away to continue going through the cupboards.

You don’t have the appetite to join him. You want to stomp your foot and scream at him, that what you did was no different than the display of magic he’d used to blast away his enemies. What more did you need to do to prove you could learn elven magic?!

But you don’t. You’re still exhausted. You just do not have the energy to deal with the most perplexing person in your life right now as you turn away in disappointment and go find yourself a hammock to sleep the rest of the night away, nightmares can join you be damned if they like.

To your utter amazement the next day, you are all caught up in the events you missed, namely that you were to be docking soon and taking the rest of the trek on foot. 

Imtura delivered this news with the kind of grave misfortune one would of a dearly beloved and departed friend.

The way she looked back at the sea as you all trudged up to land from the docks for what was going to be the next leg of this excursion was the expression of true love you had rarely seen in your life. Only but a few instances in your village of couples gazing at each other, not caring who else saw. But she sighed, and plunged ahead with the rest of you as the people of this town parted and murmured uneasily around your party.

She’d given orders for the Wraith’s crew to go off any way they liked and not to tell her mother where they’d left her. Other than that, they were free to roam the seas at their leisure, she’d find them again.

Everything about her was truly so fascinating. She had no problems talking to people collecting supplies, but she was clearly aware of the slight horror in a few of them who had only heard rumors of brutish orcs as likely to to pillage as purchase a sack of grains as you’d once been. She was still quick to laugh, still looking on in excitement for the road ahead at all hours.

Nia doesn’t offer you any more magic lessons, and you decide against pestering her for it… but you did start taking out the purple gem she’d given you and had taken to tossing it around eagerly, just a hint that you were ready when she was.

You stopped doing that quiet so much at the dry look Tyril always gave it. Somehow, you feared he wanted to toss it away with all his strength.

Tyril had always been as approachable as a skunk-porcupine, and on his bad days, a porcupine-skunk. Since the day you’d docked though, he’d become somehow even more elusive than prior, and that was truly saying something. He rarely spoke unless spoken to after he, Imtura, and Mal scoured over a map of the path you’d be taking together while you and Nia watched eagerly over their shoulders.

It wasn’t as detailed as she’d like, and Imtura kept muttering about how it was hardly worth the gold she’d spent. You couldn’t help but chuckle sadly, knowing what she was really missing was the expanse of what she was leaving behind rather than the mountains ahead, but she never complained once. On the contrary, she greatly enjoyed several new things in your path, never having bothered delving to deep into many shores in her past.

The wide expanses of grass delighted her, she called it the strangest grassy sea. While hills and rock formations didn’t make her look twice, you could find plenty of those on an island or two, the farther your party got from civilization, she was shocked at the few small, sporadic villages you often gave a wide berth to. You spent hours trying to explain to her how such small places with such few people could thrive.

It was strange to stand there sometimes, staring down at them. They had no clue how close the world was to falling into darkness…

About a week after you set sail from the cursed isle, you find yourself encamped at the border of the Deadwood, a massive sprawling forest. It’s a place you’ve only heard the vaguest of rumors about, and not named so lightly if even one of those stories were true. You were all resting for the night before braving its path on first light.

 Your party relaxes around a campfire, even as the trees loom dark and ominous ahead, and Mal tells a tale of one of his many adventures.

“-so, I got out, but the contessa wasn’t going to be very happy with that, lemme tell ya. I had to lose the necklace again in the card game, and of course every hand they dealt me was a winner. Finally I just flipped the table over and ran!” His hands motion with every detail, he even makes a grand table flipping gesture and you can all but hear the crash and screams it would cause as you laugh. 

“But what about the real necklace?” Nia gasped.

“Oh,” he brushes his massive length of hair flowing down his neck a sweep with his hand in expert fashion. “I went back to the manor house, seduced the contessa, and stole it back, naturally. I always get the job done in the end!”

“How many of your stories rely on you seducing a contessa?” Tyril asked flatly. His eyes were closed, you’d have mistaken his disinterest as sleep talking if you didn’t know better. “Because this is at least the third.”

“They’re good stories!” Mal laughed.

“That’s what I like about you, Mal,” Imtura is chuckling right along with him. “By wit or your own dumb luck, things always seem to work out for ya.”

“My luck is highly educated, I’ll have you know,” Mal wags his finger around in a sturdy impression of wisdom. Your chuckle is a sad bit tinged though in agreement with Imtura as you catch his eye, and he quickly looks away. He hasn’t tried to bring up your promise again, but you get the sense he’s not pleased with you all the same. You don’t care. 

“You do know that doesn’t make sense, right?” Threep sighs, licking his paw and cleaning himself upon Nia’s lap. “You can’t just say words with that flirty little smirk and hope no one notices? I mean you c-“

Mal reaches into his pack and tosses Threep a dried fish. He stares at it, then at Mal, then with a roll of his eyes, snatches it and rushes off to eat under a nearby bush with a delighted flutter of his wings.

“Knew that would shut him up. What about you, kit? Got any fun stories?” He gives your leg a nudge with his own. 

You chuckle and wipe off some of the sticky juice from the fruit you’d been contently chewing on off your chin. “There was the time Kade tried to steal a pie. We were only ten, maybe twelve mind you. I really should have known better, but we’d been out scavenging in the forest all day and we were exhausted. That pie looked like a little slice of heaven. It was sitting in the open window of one of the cottages on the path back to town, no one around… so I convinced Kade to run up and snatch it real quick!”

“Syrum!” If Nia weren’t sitting between Tyril and Mal, she’d have reached over and smacked you. “You didn’t!”

Fighting off a laugh, you try to continue, “except we didn’t realize this cottage had gained a new acquisition upon their last trip to the market... now guarding them was a vicious, giant, bloodthirsty, goose!”

“Oh no,” Tyril’s actually starting to sit up with a look of dread. “Those are the worst!”

You flash him a grin of agreement. “That monster chased us halfway back to town,” you groan, “screeching and hissing, trying to peck our eyes out! Kade tripped over a root, still holding the pie, and landed face first in it. That’s when we realized it was an eel pie, and not even an apple one like we’d hoped.”

“Eel pie?” Nia’s pressed a concerned hand to her stomach. “That sounds horrible.”

“It’s not so bad, but the goose didn’t care about our demise. It charged up on Kade, and we had to fling fistfuls of the slimy buggers to escape.” You shrug with an old laugh. Mrs. Foster had eventually figured out it was the two of you, that smell lingered, and she’d even come around and given you two an extra one a few days later… not that either of you had been very enthusiastic in your thanks. 

“Now that’s my kind of adventure,” Imtura laughs, tossing her head so that her hair flickered over your shoulder as vibrant as flames.

“Can we go back to the part where Tyril is afraid of geese?” Mal asks politely. 

“I’m not afraid of geese,” he said sharply, giving him a level look over Nia’s head. “I just loathe them! Filthy squawking, dung-spewing white devils with beady little eyes,” his face is a mask of anger, and something far off in his eyes no longer glowering at just Mal.

“I feel like we’re unpacking some childhood trauma,” you try your level best to say without a laugh. You’d been the one chased by the thing and didn’t have half as much venom for them. 

“I hate them,” he agrees flatly as if that had even been in question. He throws himself back into his log and closes his eyes again, probably thinking of elven parties with goose legs or something.

 With a commiserating grin at him, you decide to offer another story instead that had no such fowls. “Or, there was the time I messed up a festival cake. It was going to be my first spring festival as an adult, so naturally I wanted to impress everyone in town. I stayed up all night trying to figure out how to make a blossom cake. But in my exhaustion, I must have mistaken a bag of salt for sugar…”

“Uh-oh,” Nia agreed at the utter dread you trailed off with.

“I woke up in the kitchen and it was too late to waste time checking the cake to see how it had turned out,” you groaned around an old laugh. “We had to rush to the festival in the town square. So they added my cake to the lineup of desserts, and everyone came up to get a slice, and, well, you could see the horror on their faces once they took a bite. Then everyone, I mean everyone, raced to the well. I think the mayor got so thirsty she started drinking out of the horse-cow trough.”

Imtura’s boisterous laugh would have blended right in with the memory of Kade’s. “Ain’t nothing wrong with that.”

“Needless to say, I didn’t win the dessert competition.” You conclude grandly. “Kade buried it and did a whole funeral bit for the poor lost ingredients and everything.”

“Do humans not like salt-cakes?” You truly cannot tell if Tyril is joking as he cracks an eye open for you. “They’re a delicacy in Undermount.”

Everyone’s now staring at him.

“…that was a joke,” he mutters, crossing his ankles and closing his eye back.

“Was it, though? Was it really?” Mal’s looking at him like their first meeting all over again. Hostile concern for this guy. At least now it was centered wholly around his sense of humor.

He doesn’t answer… guess you’d find out soon enough. You can’t help but cackle, and it echoes strangely in the darkness the fire can’t reach as your eyes wander off to the mountains far off from you where you can see.

Imtura unearths another flask of strong ale from her bag and passes it around. “You lot aren’t so bad, you know. For a bunch of humans and elves.”

Your breath catches hard in the back of your throat and you look quickly back to see her grinning between you all.

“Yeah, I can’t complain,” Mal agrees grandly, happily taking a long swig at his turn. “Not that the brigands and mercenaries I usually get stuck with on a job are that hard to beat.”

“I’m just thrilled to finally see the world, and with such amazing company,” Nia says, head held high, smile brighter than the scattering of stars. She even takes a hearty sip upon her turn, and her face doesn’t flush nearly as red as that first time.

“If I must be saddled with others on my quest, I suppose it could be worse,” Tyril agrees around a lazy yawn and trying to settle himself more comfortably against the log.

Nia elbows him with a grin. You’re once again astounded at that dress if she doesn’t have a bruise from that armor for the stunt. “Admit you like us!”

“… I find your company tolerable,” he agrees, and you’d swear it wasn’t just the flickering shadows on his face making him seem to smile in the dim light.

“Wow,” Mal’s fanning his face and rolling his eyes as grandly as a contessa would. “That’s practically marriage proposal coming from you.” 

You can’t help but join in the teasing. He’s more than earned it after that salt-cake stunt. “We find you tolerable too. How can we appreciate the sun without a little rain after all?” You reach over and pat his boot across the fire. 

Tyril lazily opens his eyes and smirks at you full force. “I’m glad my presence can serve some purpose.” Then he sighs, and sits up straight, and you feel a sinking pit as he clears his throat and looks away from you. “All nonsense aside, we need to discuss how we’re going to make our way into Undermount.”

“What do you mean?” Nia asks with a blank confusion you were wondering yourself. “The map says we’re only a few days away from it now? Wouldn’t we just, walk in?”

“Going strictly by road, yes,” he agrees kindly. “But if you haven’t noticed, we’re on the edge of the Deadwood. And the next few days travel will take us straight through the Deadwood’s heart.”

“Well, with a name like Deadwood, how could it go wrong?” Mal snorts. Tyril shoots him a withering look.

“There, isn’t some other path we could take?” Nia asks, though the fact she’d waited until the last second to ask already speaks of the answer as she glances over at Imtura.

“It’s the only way to Undermount now,” Tyril reminds, he doesn’t need the map to know clearly. “It’s a sprawling, dense forest teeming with all kinds of horrifying creatures.”

“Sounds like my kind of place!” Imtura laughs, pulling a bag of nuts loose from her sack. “When do we start?” She throws a handful in with force and there’s a massive crunch like a tree beginning to fall. Then she offers you some, and you happily accept. You can’t toss half as many into your mouth, but it makes the same satisfying crunch. Their salty tang makes you ‘mph,’ in joy as it couples well with your berries, and feels like the best meal of your life as you take a good long swig of the last at your turn.

“At sunrise. We want to travel in as much daylight as possible.” Tyril patiently repeats, though none of you had really questioned why you’d made camp so early in the evening.

“Will that actually keep the monsters at bay?” Nia asks with mild hope.

“No,” Tyril says bluntly, but not unkindly. “But it’ll make it easier to see them coming.”

“Real assuring,” you sigh.

At sunrise, you pack up your belongings and head into the fearsome Deadwood. The sturdy clothes Imtura had given you still hold up surprisingly well, they’d only needed a little patching here and there. The forest was quickly going to make whatever needle and thread you possessed through its paces though.

Dead gray trees twist their leafless branches into a thick canopy overhead, blocking out the sun. It makes the whole world have a haunted green feel, like looking through a veil of how the world should be. Everything around you is twisted, smoky, as if a fire had just raged through here, and nothing had healed around it as every single thing you pass feels as if it's going to reach out and snag you, pull you in for a final breath.

“I can feel the sorrow weighing down these lands. The Light’s hold here is very tenuous,” Nia sighs, brushing her hands against the ancient plants with sorrow. You can’t help but flash back to the first time you saw her in such a place, so different a world away as she’d skipped merrily through.

“What happened to this place?” You ask, not even sure you wanted the answer as the dirt stirring across your feet looks more like ash and a new evil ready to swallow you. “Was it always like this Tyril?”

“At the height of Xaius’ empire, it was a bountiful forest, and a safe haven for the more sylvan elves,” Tyril’s somber tone leading the party carries back on the flat air.

You mouth the word sylvan to yourself and tuck that word away for a later time in confusion.

“But the Shadow Court’s venomous actions changed all that,” he gives a perfunctory huff that’s as close to losing his composer as you’ve ever seen of him.

“Such a waste,” Nia agrees, the tragedy in her tone as genuine as if she were in that home for orphans. “It would take an incredible amount of magic to cleanse these lands. Certainly, more magic than I can ever wield.”

The path winds through rocky outcroppings and past thick brambles with razor-like thorns. The roots creeping up from the ground are gnarled and thin so much so you’ve all tripped over at least five in the gloom. You get another dose, trying to throw your arms out for balance, and find you can’t. “Ouch! Ugh, I’m stuck,” you huff, twisting your arm this way and that.

Without you noticing, a knotted purple vine has entangled your arm. You pull but it doesn’t budge, instead digging further into your shirt and scratching your arm beneath unpleasantly. You reach over and try to pull it away, but your fingers instantly reel back from the painful bushel with a hiss.

“Hang tight kit,” Mal says patiently, only the faintest hint of amusement in his voice that this might be another story someday as he comes over, knife out. He moves around close to unhook your clothing from the needly vine one thin bit of fabric at a time, working his blade expertly. “Almost, got it- damn!”

“What? What’s the matter,” you yelp, pulling yourself taught and unable to see quite what he’s looking at a side look from the violet, violent vine… something about them is vaguely familiar…

“I, erm,” he coughs. “Seem to be caught too.” He looks down sheepishly at yet another vine wrapped around his leg, now limiting his movement as much as yours.

You bite your lip hard, but cannot stop a laugh. “So much for Mal the Magnificent. He died like he lived, caught in a trap of his own making.”

He gives you a droll look. “Hey, I was trying to help you! Guess I won’t make that mistake again,” he sniffs, turning his blade towards himself now. “Seriously though. Any idea what we do here? Because this is kind of funny, but also, I’m not loving how these vines are moving.”

You glance down and see he’s right. The vines are writhing, tightening, and you feel a pain start to course through your arm as your heart skips a beat.

Any other day, this would have been deeply fascinating. You’re half tempted to call the others over to see such a spectacle… but instead you sigh, and try something else first. “Kade’s read about these, I think. They’re called Pythonas Vines, and they’re actually pretty dangerous. They grab living creatures and squeeze them, constricting until the bones break, then absorb the remains for nutrients.”

“You couldn’t have warned me about that before I came over?” Mal demands at your rather blasé tone.

“They’re usually not powerful enough to hurt anything larger than a squirrel-bird or the like,” you shrug. “They can’t exert to much of their own energy after all. The trick is to convince them you’re not alive. If they think they’ve just grabbed a passing bramble in the wind, they’ll let go.”

“So we, hold completely still?” Mal clearly thinks you’re trying to pull his other leg.

“Think you can manage?” You snort.

He rolls his eyes, but, with a deep breath, holds his body statue still. You’re already doing the same.

And a moment later, the vines release, falling limp to the ground.

“Well, would you look at that. The kit was right,” Mal chuckles, giving you a firm clap on the shoulder.

“I’m always right,” you sniff, crossing your arms with the most hilarious sense of superiority. “The sooner you learn that the better.”

He’s chuckling with you as you hurry to catch up with the group, Imtura and Nia still easily being spotted as they begin lingering and looking around for you two. The moment he does, he’s already giving them the rundown of your little excursion.

It’s not until he casually puts his knife back away after having swished it around for emphasis of those deadly needle points do you wonder to yourself if he’s been in here before. He truly hadn’t seemed to know what those vines were, either that or he’d actually massively just been goofing off letting you figure it out. He hadn’t once told a story about being in this area of the world. It made a bit of sense if not, he usually just stuck to cities for his loot.

You find yourself walking a bit straighter as you realize, you really might be better in your element than him for once.

The forest around you somehow grows darker, stiller, eerier with every step. In a quiet moment, Nia presses alongside you, looking around nervously. “Syrum, I might just be imagining things, but, I kind of feel like something’s watching us.”

“You mean besides the creepy vines that crush your limbs to paste?” You ask.

She gives you a deeper frown, she hadn’t found the story nearly as funny as Imtura. “Honestly, yes. I keep seeing movement out of the corner of my eyes, shifting shadows up in the trees.”

You put a gentle arm around her and hug her close. “Nia, you’re creeping me out a little,” you admit, looking about nervously.

“I’m sorry,” she sighs, still putting one arm around your side too and squeezing. “It’s probably nothing. I’ve just never been in a place like this before and I-“

Just then, something skitters by overhead, and Nia leaps farther into you, utterly losing her balance. You catch her in your arms. “Did you see that?!” She demands, voice only an octave off from a squeal of terror.

“We should stay on guard,” you agree, giving her a comforting squeeze, and letting go.

She pulls away from you reluctantly but stays pressed close. “For, what?”

“I would also like to know for what?” Mal huffs, somehow appearing close by again when you’d swear he’d been up front bothering Tyril a moment ago. He seriously had a knack for that. Tyril had very obviously been bickering about some kind of ointment for the closing scabs on Mal’s hand, but you really hadn’t been paying attention when that had stopped.

“They’re talking to you, elf,” Imtura calls in case Tyril had chosen this as one of his selective moments to ignore you all. “You know these woods. What do we need to worry about?”

“Too many evils to name,” he calls back, not slowing his pace.

“Just once, just once, I’d love a straight answer from you,” Mal groans.

Tyril sighed, and clearly, reluctantly elaborated, still without stopping his pace. “These woods are a deeply unholy place, a site of great cruelty. All manner of darkness congregates here. Ghouls, drakna, fleshdrinkers.”

“I don’t know what that last one is, and I don’t think I want to,” Mal doesn’t seem anymore pleased at having finally gotten his straight answer.

“Let’s all just stay sharp,” you remind, pushing your way forward to keep up with him in the only kind of encouragement you can think of. To press on, to get out of here.

Suddenly, there’s a rustling in the underbrush, and several small creatures come darting out.

They’re some amalgamation of a rabbit and something with antlers, a deer perhaps…. But neither of those creatures had six eyes and fangs.

Nia yelps like a frightened bunny herself and skitters off. Tyril looks back and finds himself in front of her, arm up to stop her getting any farther away, looking at the hoard coming out with a bored expression. “Ugh, lapna. Watch out, they come in hordes,” he sighs, sounding more as if he’d run into a horde of nesper kittens than truly worried.

You wonder vaguely if that’s an elvish word for these guys, if perhaps these animals you’d known all your life had proper names people in the city knew them as? The creatures dart toward you with shocking speed and a cacophony of angry squeaks.

It honestly seemed a waste of one of your few remaining arrows, you’d rarely found the material to make more along the way and hadn’t come across any salesman for them back at the port. These little guys were child’s play to you, the only new obstacle being you couldn’t just manage a shot right through their skull if you weren’t careful taking those antlers into account. But, it was fresh meat.

You knock arrow after arrow and fire in quick succession. Every one strikes true and the lapna fall, and those that don’t scatter with little, “eeee!” squeaks of protest.

“Target practice, love it,” you smirk.

“Hoo-ey,” Imtura’s eyes flash between you and the seven or so you’d downed. “That’s some nice bow work.” She shakes her hand out as if remembering an old wound.

Your heart still flutters like a traitor as you stand taller for her praise, smiling like a dope-

“Lapna are far from fearsome, but their number make them pesky little beasts,” Tyril says cuttingly, already moving to walk off with an icy chill in his wake. “And their noise usually draws larger creatures.”

You swallow and try not to shrink into yourself with the ridiculous urge to apologize.

“Great, just what we need,” Mal manages somehow more scathingly than him as he begins scooping up dinner and tying all their feet together with a rope. You get the feeling Mal’s not complaining about the noise the jackrabbit-antelopes had been making as you go around and try to collect any of your arrows back that hadn't splintered on impact, but there were only three.

Tyril pauses, and glances back, and something of his tense shoulders ease. “Were those lapna what you saw a moment ago, Nia?” He asks much more kindly.

“I’m not sure,” she admits, still hovering beside him wearily and looking around from when the melee had started. “I thought, I thought what I saw was larger. It still feels like something’s watching us,” she looks all around insistently, pleading with you all not to call her crazy.

“If so, it’s keeping its distance,” Tyril’s sharp eyes are flickering around nonstop, clearly believing her much more than even you’d like him to. “For now. Let’s keep moving, and stay alert.”

After a few more hours of travel uphill, the road starts to level off.

“Look! I think there’s a clearing up ahead!” Nia calls in relief, even moving as if to take the lead just for some fresh sunlight being hinted at.

“Careful,” Tyril’s gently caught her arm before she could dart past. “That may not be such a blessing.”

Weak sunlight filters through the clouds overhead, revealing a gap in the trees, and an abandoned campsite. 

“Blood in the air. I smell it,” Imtura says grimly, shifting her weight around unhappily, fingers already itching for an ax most likely.

“Look, a caravan,” Nia frowns, again trying to dart ahead.

You follow warily in confusion, knowing she fears hurt people, and your head is on a swivel for what caused it to crash. As you move closer, you spot three wooden caravan wagons hunkering in the clearing. They’re all painted in bright colors of blue and red, with quilts over the top and gold inlaid across their front. They’ve very intricately crafted, far more complex than you’ve ever seen, but the wheels are crushed, spokes broken, axels in pieces. All of them are on their side.

“They’ve been overturned,” Imtura sounds grudgingly impressed as she circles one, looking curiously about the ground and running her hand over the groves of wood in the back of one. “Smashed open. Like someone raided them.”

“Right. I’ll root around inside,” you frown, edging closer, skirting the edges and starting with one at the front, the biggest and grandest. Some of the doors you pass are hanging loose and nearly blown off the hinges, and rumpled curtains loll from windows just begging the elements to whip them away.

“These were nice wagons too,” you call aloud. “Look at the gold filigree and carvings. Maybe they were hit by bandits?”

“I don’t think so.” Tyril’s keeping pace close to you. “If you’re a bandit,” he pries open the loose door from the one still in the middle of the procession, revealing glittering sacks of gold and bolts of silk. “Why would you leave this behind?”

Your stomach sinks in horror at this very valid point.

“Why would we leave it behind!?” Mal says, a cheer in his voice as he bends down to inspect them.

“More importantly, if bandits killed however was in this wagon, were the hell are the bodies?” Imtura says warily.

Also an excellent question, and one you like even less after the last time you went looking for bodies considering what you found. “New theory. Something spooked the people so bad they ran off and left their wagons behind?”

“Scared them off, or took them prisoner,” Tyril cheerfully adds, his face bleak as stone.

“This just gets worse and worse,” Mal huffs, tying off sacks of gold as easily as he had the rabbits and rolling up the silk for his pack. “Let’s get out of here before you guys start imagining the Dreadlord himself.”

You all look at each other uneasily, waiting for someone else to vote, something. You stop where you are, looking at the abandoned wagon at the head, but already weary at how much space there is between you guys spreading out over just these two.

“Mal’s right,” you agree, feeling unreasonably tense the longer you look around, and not just because Mal willing to leave the rest of this treasure unturned was cause enough for alarm. “The sooner we’re away from here, the better.”

“I mean, we could take a moment to see if there is more gold,” Mal says with a curious head tilt, but you can’t help a laugh, knowing he’s kidding as he backs away towards you.

“And end up just like whoever was in this wagon?” Tyril scoffs, more than happy to move on. His restless energy is infectious and leaves you more fidgety and on edge than being back in a forest ever should have been possible.

“Fair enough,” Mal raises his hands, already falling into step with him.

You start to move on, when Nia’s satchel stirs, and a familiar head pokes out. “Hmm?”

“Well, well,” Mal gives him a friendly enough pat on the head as he passes. “The great nesper finally stirs.”

“I can’t help my sleep habits. I’m nocturnal,” he says around a grand yawn.

“You sleep at night constantly,” Tyril could have been taking lessons from Mal with that kind of sarcastic tone.

“I’m adorable?” Threep tries, blinking up at you with wide adorable eyes indeed.

“Regardless,” you chuckle, “Threep, we’re kind of having an intense moment here.”

“Oh I’m sure,” he manages between licking at his paw, “but, something stirred me awake.” He hops out of the satchel and looks around the caravan, sniffing.  “I sense something. Someone fled into the wood, that way,” he’s glancing off to the shadows ahead. “Carrying something of great value…” He tips his head to the side, still sniffing the air delicately.

“Greater value than this chest here?” Mal gives the heavy crate a light tap with his foot. “Now I’m interested.”

“It is getting dark.” Tyril interrupts his wandering eyes. “We need to be preparing camp, not going on some wild goose chase.” You don’t need his tone and closeted childhood trauma choice of words to get his feelings on the matter.

“This isn’t just some trinket,” Threep insists, stretching and padding off with his tail high. “What I’m sensing has power, magic. Something, something ancient. And not far from here.” He wanders back and begins circling your feet, looking up at you of all people. “I must confess, I’m fiendishly interested in this. I must know what it is!”

Ah, well, appealing to your sense of curiosity was always a quick way to your heart. You’re unsurprised he’s learned that as you bend down and scoop him up to give his ear a good scratch.

“You do know what curiosity did to the cat, right?” Imtura smirks.

“I find that expression deeply offensive,” he glowers over your shoulder at her, and you’re grateful he can’t see your brief smile as you run your hand soothingly down his back, stopping to scratch behind a wing this time.

You lean down, and just barely, focusing as much as your elvish senses will allow, you detect a stirring of power from within the brush. “Threep’s right. There is something out there.”

“I’m in!” Mal claps your shoulder, instantly on board, the two of you exchanging invigorated smiles. “Let’s go get this magical whatever!”

“Tyril’s right, I think we should be setting up camp before night falls,” Nia cautions too, glancing nervously at the dim lighting and over to him as if expecting him to somehow stop the pair of you.

“A compromise then,” Mal said graciously, leaning his weight on the shoulder Threep isn’t currently lolled out on. “The cat and I’ll go check it out, and the rest of you make camp. Syrum can join us.”

“I would be most amenable to that,” he agrees with a purr in his voice.

“What do you say kit?” His sparkling, mischievous brown eyes are already darting off and back impatiently. “You in?”

“Of course I’m in,” you chuckle. “Let’s take a quick look for this magical relic. We’ll be back before you knot it,” you assure Tyril.

He sighs, but seems much more amiable to not arguing with the pair of you wandering off anymore. That’s some improvement. “I don’t like it, but, be careful.”

“When am I not?” Mal gives faux hurt as he presses his hand to his heart. The dirty bandages on his hand does not make a compelling point.

Tyril deigns not to answer as the three of you go off, the sounds of the others setting up camp chores falling quickly behind you.

               “I’m surprised you let them go off, as weary as you are of this place,” Nia says cautiously to Tyril at their retreating forms.

“Kind of wondering if I shouldn’t go,” Imtura agrees, but she’s kicking off her boots with a sigh of relief as well and leaning over to where Mal had dropped the bag full of antlered rabbits to begin skinning them.

“They’re perfectly capable of looking after each other, and it would only cause more harm than good to try and tell them not to go,” Tyril says with the kind of exhaustion deep in his voice from far too much personal experience… but his eyes linger the longest upon their absent shadows… 

                   Threep flutters his wings and pulls himself up to your shoulder completely as you push through the trees with both hands, smiling rakishly back at Mal as he lags behind. “C’mon, Mr. Magnificent, keep up!”

“Of course,” he sniffs, swatting a lingering web out of his face. “Can’t have you rushing off ahead and getting ambushed by another one of Nia’s spooky shadow monsters.”

“You think she really saw something besides those lapna?” You ask, looking back in sudden concern for them.

“Could have,” he agrees, not nearly as strung up about it. “I’ve come across stranger things lurking in dark corners in my day. Nothing I can’t wriggle out of, if you’re worried.”

His confidence is as instilling as it was once annoying. “You’re saying that nothing in these woods scares you huh?”

“Please,” he snatches up a stick and uses it to whack a passing trunk. “The things in this forest should be scared of me!”

“Oh yes,” Threep agrees with a laugh, kneading his little paws into your shoulder. “I’m sure your routine of running away at the first sign of danger will certainly inspire fear in the shadowy hellions of the deep.”

“And you think they’ll be scared of a snarky little housecat like yourself?” He demands with a casual glance at you giving his furry chin a friendly tickle.

“Hmph,” Threep pulls away from you, giving Mal a little hiss. “Maybe they’d at least have respect for an ancient and noble being, unlike yourself!”

“Aw, the widdle kitty’s tail is all puffed up,” Mal snickers.

Threep’s tail swishes back and forth sharply against the back of your neck, and he licks a paw imperiously. “May I remind you that I am a nesper, imbued with nearly two millennia of wisdom, from a far more glorious age than you can even imagine?”

“Ya know, I think you’ve mentioned it a time or two,” Mal nods mock seriously.

“Okay, we get it,” you groan, swatting a hand against Mal’s shoulder. “Threep, you’re very impressive. Mal, you’re a bad bold and intimidating adventurer!” They both huff but seem ready to let it go. “What was it like back then Threep?” You ask of him, going back to letting him rub his face firmly against your crooked fingers, bending your nails to his will.

You had found him as just a kitten, but in just the span of a few weeks he’d already lengthened himself out into a respectable mouser any farmer would keep on his property with a few scraps of food. You were determined not to underestimate your friend's knowledge again after your mess up with Nia as you ask him point blank if there was some ancient wisdom he wanted to share.

“Well,” he spreads his weight comfortably upon you, foot dangling over your chest. “For one, everyone universally adored and revered the Nesper!”

“Yeah, yeah, you were practically a god, whatever,” Mal snorted harshly enough to drown out your quiet one.

“Magic was everywhere,” Threep continues piously, ignoring him. “And it wasn’t something to be feared or kept in reserve, it was just part of the tapestry. Like the perfect sunset. Unimaginably beautiful if you’ve never seen one, but easy to overlook if you take it for granted.”

“I bet Nia would've loved to see that world,” you grin. 

“She asks about it often,” he agrees, nuzzling into your neck, but there’s a sadness lingering in him now, a small chirp to his voice. “But, because some people wanted to hoard that free, wild magic, it’ll never exist again. Not like it was.”

You sigh, and cuddle him closer. “Oh Threep, I never realized how much you missed it. The way things used to be.”

“It’s not that bad,” he gives the cat approximation of a shrug, his wings fluttering as he nestles and spreads out more of his weight upon you. There is still joy in his voice you’re used to hearing. “As the only nesper left, once I get the ball rolling on the hero worship, I’ll get all the reverence and adoration to myself.” 

You can’t help but bust out laughing, he sounds just like you used to. A kit, a little kid, and in all honesty, he still was just a baby in most ways. Though the ratio of cat to others aging was something you knew little about. “While you’re working on that, we can all work on making the world just a little bit better.”

“Speak for yourself,” Mal chuckles. “I’m just gonna make the world a little bit better for me.”

“Does anything scare you Mal?” You can’t help but turn back around on him, asking with indulgence of expecting an answer. 

“You certainly do a lot of running away for someone who claims to be so fearless,” Threep agrees slyly. 

“There’s plenty of stuff to run from,” Mal sniffs, flipping his hair out of his face with a casual toss of his head. “Doesn’t mean any of it scares me,” he concludes with a sniff, that old malice back in him you hadn’t seen in weeks now.

“What are you running from then?” You can’t help but challenge with a raised brow.

“You’re really trying to get personal huh?” Mal asks, not sounding intolerable as he gives you an appraising look. “Maybe wait for the fifth or sixth date for that.”

Fall back into flirting huh? That’s where he was at? This was definitely a high-level problem avoidance. “I think that answers my question Mal Volari.”

“Oh yeah,” he’s being so flippant and starting to drift away from you as if that patch of rocks would be much more fun to walk upon. “And what do you think you know about me, Master Detective Syrum.”

“You’re scared of getting personal,” you admit out loud for the first time. “You’re literally running from it right now.”

“Shows how much you know,” he runs his fingers through his hair and very purposefully falls back into step beside you as if he’d been doing nothing of the sort. “I’m all about getting personal.” He smirks and you can just feel the salacious comment he’s about to make to get you to blush, maybe one of those things he’d hinted at seeing in a brothel… but then he stops, and his expression turns thoughtful as he catches your eye. He opens his mouth-

“Shhh, we’re close!” Threep murmurs hastily, sitting up abruptly upon your shoulder. The change in weight makes you tense right along with him, fingers itching for your bow.

The trees part, revealing a delicate magical grove. Lights sparkle from the trees, and a gentle mist hangs over the ground. It’s like a beautiful new world you’d passed into. The trees are full of life and bloom in shades of purples and greens, the grass is thick and springy, full to bursting with energy, and even glimmers a bit as you walk through it as if ready to shower you with pollen floating from above. 

“There!” Threep calls in excitement, bouncing back to his own feet and jumping from each of your shoulders with an agile twist of his hips. 

Lying in the center of the grove is an elegant dagger, pulsing with magical energy. 

“Magical dagger? Don’t mind if I do,” Mal’s already eager to swoop in. But as he approaches, a low growl sounds from a nearby bush. “... or not,” he sighs, already reaching for his own with well oiled experience. He jerks back closer to you, blade at the read as a creature emerges from the shadows.

It’s a puppy.

It is an angry puppy, but a tiny little guy all the same. Thick black fur, massive paws, he’s got thick spines on his back that glow as purple as the tips of his tail, ears, and a ring upon his chest that merges up into his creamy white face. Even his tongue looks as if he’s just had a tongue-melting oyster or two. He’s got little horns forming out in front of his ears that are also typed the same shade, and a spackle of purple upon his forehead in the shape of a stone. He gives you a little menacing, “grrrr!”

“What is that,” you ask curiously, eyes darting around for mama cautiously. 

The creature paces to the dagger, protectively baring its fangs. 

“I’ve seen them in Whitetower, pets for the wealthiest and most powerful nobles.” Mal sighs, looking a little pitiful for the poor creature… or the knife it's protecting, you really can’t decide. 

“The worst of the worst. A voxper,” Threep says with deep disgust, crouching low in your hair like an angry scarf. You can feel his own growls radiating off of him.

The creature's eyes light on Threep, and a low voice emanates from its jaws. “Well, well, well. A nesper.”

You can’t help but scream bloody murder and backpedal far away, hand flying up to press your talking cat deeper into your shoulder. Great, how many animals could actually talk you’d never heard of?!

The voxper isn’t done, following your progress attentively. His voice is deep, regal… and still as childlike as Threep’s had once been when he’d emerged from his crystal. “I thought we’d seen the last of your kind.”

Threep’s deep hiss from his throat is blood chilling against your ear, his nails digging painfully into your shoulder as he continues to growl. You don’t need to look over and see his eyes are flashing, hateful slits. 

“Hang on, the dog talks too?” Well at least Mal’s as surprised as you are! It’s not much of a relief, but all you have to cling to right now. 

“I am not a dog!” The dog snaps, puffing up his tiny chest. “I am a voxper! A noble hound, friend of elves and man!”

“Ha! Please!” Threep’s hurting you, his wing cutting deep scratches into the back of your neck, his nails dug deep, he’s sitting so tight and yet longing to jostle in place to wiggle for the right pounce. Your hand presses tighter against his back to keep him in place, but you’d seen how fast he could be when he wanted to, fluid as liquid squirming out of Nia’s arms. There was little hope of stopping him if he launched off for a fight. “Voxpers are crude and unrefined beasts! There’s nothing noble about you!”

 “Oh, and you’re so great? Aren’t you supposed to be dead?” He snarls back, tail wagging menacingly as he crouches low.  

 “We had the decency to die with the elves, not grovel before the first master who came along!” Threep snarls back, you can feel his back legs quivering and ready to spring.

“Decency to die?” The voxper lets out a barking laugh of a scoff. “Do you even hear yourself, fleabag?”

“How! Dare!” Threep’s beyond words, you are now clutching his scruff upon the back of his neck to stop him. 

Mal leans over, whispering in your ear, “Did I suffer a head injury earlier? Or are you seeing this too?”

“No, I’m seeing it, working on the believing it,” you agree, feeling light headed at where your life was, and it’s not just from the blood loss as Threep gives a horrid HISSSSS right against your face to be let go.

The voxper gives a ferocious little, “GROOOWWWWW,” back.

“Hot damn, they’re ready to go at it,” Mal sounds vaguely impressed.

And then they are. With a wild wrench, Threep breaks free and tackles the voxper to the ground, and they roll around in a chorus of hisses and snarls. 

“Mal, help me! Grab the voxper, I’ll get Threep!” You’re already trying to lunge after him, empty arms feeling cold.

“I don’t really want those razor sharp teeth anywhere near my gorgeous-”

“Grab. It.” You snap, shoving him forward. 

“On it,” Mal groans in reluctant agreement.

He dives for the pup, while you swoop down and snatch up Threep around his middle. “Syrum!” He’s wiggling in protest, looking at you in betrayal. “Unhand me! You’re interfering in a matter of pride and honor-” he sounds very much like a kid being scolded, and you would have laughed if you didn’t want to throttle him as your shoulder throbs in pain.

“How utterly predictable,” the voxper sneers, Mal’s hands holding tight as he crouches over the little guy holding onto his middle too. “The Nesper needs his master to come to his defense. A guardian defends his master, not the other way!”

“Having a real hard time keeping hold of this pup Syrum!” Mal reminds, actually having to dig his heels in and pressing the dog firmly into the ground.

“I did not ask him to come to my defense!” Threep yowls, batting in frustration at your arms but only managing to catch your shirt, for now. “And he’s not my master! We’re companions! ”

The animals wriggle free and glare at each other, only a patch of grass separating them, still puffed up and ready to circle each other and begin again. 

“All right, as hilarious as this is, we have a camp to get to.” Mal impatiently cuts in.

 You give him a withering look and already know you’re going to need to put the last of that salve on your shoulder. This certainly wasn’t funny to you! “You, dog-thing.” Mal wedges his foot between the two little beasts and wiggles it back and forth. “What's with the dagger? Can we have it?”

The voxper actually looks away from Threep to give Mal a look of contempt. “This dagger belonged to my master, Lord Goffrey of Whitetower, his most prized possession! I held on to it when we were attacked!”

“Oh, you were with the caravan,” you sigh in understanding this did make sense.

“Losing the master but saving the dagger. Classic voxper,” Threep sniffs, still pressed low into the grass, prepared to launch himself at a moment's notice. 

 “What exactly were you attacked by?” Mal prompts hastily. You did at least agree, better to keep them talking than going back to attacking. There was a patch of blood on Threep’s hip you were not happy to see, and the pup had the same red trickles around his neck.

“I’m, not sure,” the pup admits, tail hanging low and even tucking close underneath him. You hear shame in his small voice. “They came from the trees. Scaly, chittering. I couldn’t see much else. They came fast and vicious. Hurled me into the brush. By the time I came to, my master was gone.”

He’s so small by the end, he even lets out a little whimper, and it takes every grain of loyalty you  have not to have him back near Threep that you aren’t trying to cuddle him close. 

“That’s, not comforting,” you groan, running your hand through your hair. 

“Right then, so about the dagger,” Mal’s already moved on. You resist the urge to kick him.

“Back off it brigand!” The voxper springs right back to full, diminutive form and pounces back towards it.

“Listen,” you begin wearily. “We can return your dagger to your master.” At least, you very much hope so.

“How so?” He asks, tipping his head to the side, his tail beginning the smallest wag.

“We’ll be wandering these woods, right? If we encounter your master, we’ll give him his dagger back. And if we don’t, we can take it back to Whitetower and give it to his family. We’re headed there anyway.” You say with absolute conviction of your words being truth.

“Well…” the voxper makes a soft whining noise of protest, but he’s inching closer to you still. “I suppose I wasn’t having the best luck carrying it in my teeth… Do you swear to keep your word?”

“I do,” you vow, inclining your head, even offering out your hand for him to sniff. 

 “Swear on the Old Gods and the new. On Annalis and Nithrax, on Calper and Varlan.” He insists, but he gives your hand a cautious sniff of hope. 

 At hearing the names, the anger fades from Threep’s expression. He steps forward, head bowed reverently, and speaks in unison. “On Nifara and Vaelor, and Ittar and Bakshi.”

“On Ellara and Xaius and Midys,” the voxper continues in the same deep tone you associated with Nia’s praying. The names even ring the same bells.

“And the Mother of Grey in the stars above,” Threep finishes with a bow of his head.

“Drah’alla nar toreth….” the voxper’s voice is deep with love in prayer.

“Vendar na’tolleh,” Threep concludes with a purr in his voice.

The two animals stare at each other for a moment, then the voxper drops his head. “The dagger is yours.”

“...thank you,” Threep says, and he’s standing tall, proud, tail swishing in the exact same cautious hope as the voxper’s. An awkward silence lingers over the clearing, when Threep clears his throat. “If you’d like you can travel with us. For a time.”

Mal immediately makes a face and mutters something about mouths to feed, but he doesn’t even get the chance to see your glare as the pup shakes his head. “I, appreciate the offer. But I’m on a journey of my own. Honoring my master’s last request.”

“Are you sure?” Threep actually sounds disappointed, his wings drooping, taking a few reluctant steps forward.

“I am,” he agrees, firmly, but kindly. He seems just as sad.

The two animals come together, sniffing gently, noses touching. 

“It was good to hear someone speak the old tongue again,” Threep sighs, rubbing his face gently against the voxpers neck.

“Agreed,” he says around a panting tongue lolling in and out. “Even if it was a mangy nesper.”

“Mph, why you,” but Threep’s tail twitches in a playful way as he bats lightly upon the voxper’s head. 

With a playful laugh, the voxper bounds off without looking back.

Mal lets the moment hang, just barely, then bends down to pick up the dagger. “Now this is what I’m talking about!”

It is a beauty of a weapon, you see now in the lighting. The blade is gleaming brighter than moonlight, glimmering like ice. It looks elegant, double edged, deadly to its very point. The handle is almost leaf-like in pattern, and for some strange reason it seems to have an ornamental incision where base meets metal.

“Magically sharpened steel that never dulls,” Mal’s giving it an elegant balance between his fingers, his voice as rapturous as the two animals had been in their praying. “Perfectly balanced, an edge that can cut through glass…” with a shake of his head, he tucks it into his belt. “Oh yeah, this’ll come in real handy.”

You cross your arms… but decide it’s not worth reminding him you just put your vow on the line that wasn’t his to keep. Not yet… honestly you’d never put your vow on the line for anything before. It was a strange weight settling in your chest to contemplate. “Should we get back to camp then?”

“Yes, it, it’s time,” Threep sighs. With one last miserable chirping noise, he turns, and pads off, leading the way. Walking.

The three of you return in silence. As you do, you glance down at Threep who flutters up onto your shoulder again much, much longer after the fact than he normally would have. “Hey, what you sensed out there, that you were so drawn to, was it the dagger? Or was it the voxper?” You wished you’d asked the pup his name, it had vaguely occurred to you half a dozen times, but it had almost felt rude too, somehow. He would have told you if he wanted to.

Threep doesn’t answer, but his expression says it all as he presses his face apologetically against your neck and begins gently licking at the blood. For one moment, it almost looks like he’s tearing up. “I hope he’s okay out there.” His voice is soft, a gentle murmur just for you.

“Me too,” you whisper back, brushing your hand gently through his fur as he begins to purr.

You push through the trees, returning to the others, who have long since set up camp and have started on supper. It smells delicious.

“Why is it every time you two come back someone is covered in blood,” Tyril said with a morbid frown at your shoulder upon arrival.

“This time, it was friendly fire,” you sigh, slumping down onto the nearest log. Those claws had gone deep. You shrug your shirt off and wince as it clings to the sticky life-sap of yours with a sigh as Threep flutters over to Nia’s arms.

“Did you find anything?” Tyril asks instead, tipping his head curiously.

“What happened?” Nia agreed in concern, running her hands in a fret along Threep.

“A weapon,” Mal says with pride, patting his bag, already winding himself up to tell his next epic story. You wouldn't be surprised to hear the voxper was now at least seven feet tall with three heads that he still managed to hold back one handed while you and Threep cowered in fear.

“And an old friend,” Threep says with an actual joyful flutter of his wings.

“Right then,” Imtura snorts as she continues stirring the pot. “Who’s getting first watch tonight?”

“How about you, oh hardened warrior of the seas?” Mal says with an obnoxious yawn. “Aren’t you itching for a fight?”

“Yeah, well, I’m also itching for some sleep,” she says with a leveled look at him as she takes out a spoonful and gives it a curious sip.

“I’ll keep watch with you,” you offer, prodding around on the back of your shoulder cautiously. You’d been hoping it wasn’t too deep and would heal, but you can feel fresh, sluggish blood still making its way down your back and tickling unpleasantly. “I’m not getting any sleep any time soon, this is going to drive me nuts.”

“Sorry,” Threep says genuinely from Nia’s lap where she’s giving his chest deep, hard, fond scratches.

“Eh, I’ll take the trade,” you shrug off, giving him a smile as he’s still glowing with a deeper happiness than you’ve ever seen him, and it’s not from the attention.

“And what exactly did you have in mind,” Imtura slams back into the conversation… and with a flush you realize she’s eyeing you in a strange way. And you flush a deeper shade of violet in embarrassment as you realize what you’d just said… with your shirt off…

But you meet her eyes and grin, some old flare of your natural charm rearing its head. You refuse to let the implication pass now that it’s started, it would truly be a waste. “You and me, side by side, huddled together in the dark…” you trail off with a curious brow.

“Oh, you have no idea what I’m like in the dark,” she matches your tone with a husky one of her own that absolutely makes your blood boil and your pride rise sky high.

“Can’t wait to find out then,” you chuckle eagerly.

-But then, you hear a rustle, and with a, “riiii!”, another lapna is jumping its way right into your path. There’s a devilish feeling about it as it zeros in on the fire as if it can sense its brethren in the pot simmering away into a delicious smelling stew.

A whole horde is soon to follow, bursting into the campsite.

“Oh come on!” Mal groans. Honestly, your sentiment.

“I told you they were pesky, did I not?” Tyril’s scowl doesn’t seem to know where to settle as he shoo’s the nearest one away and answers Mal.

Your friends draw their weapons as the lapna charge once again with, “ri ri ri!” upon every hop.

With burning frustration, exhaustion, and hunger, you stand up and snap, “hey, lapna! Listen real good! Sri sri, and stay away from us!”

You mimic a few other lapna noises, and then the horde skids to a stop, squeaking in surprise. 

“What, in the depths….” Imtura trails off as monstrously confused as ever about this obscene talent you truly had no idea where you pulled from. “Where’d you learn to speak their language?!”

“I dunno, but I think it’s working,” Mal’s head is wiping painfully between you and the little rascals just as much.

“Ri riri, sri! Iii,” you chitter after them, ignoring them with no better answer than when it had happened the first time with the grobtars. The point was, it was working. With a, ‘sri!’ of their own, the lapna turn tail and scamper back into the forest.

“That, was unlike anything I’ve ever seen.” Somehow Tyril’s completely vexed expression on you makes you feel more like a freak of nature than the six eyed rabbits.

“Um,” you rub awkwardly at the back of your neck, and give a helpless shrug.

“All right, change of plans!” Mal’s quick to jump to his feet, now the center of attention. “I’m not sleeping out here so a lapna can gnaw my face off during the night!”

“Actually, we might be in luck,” Tyril turns away from you with one last quizzical look and sheaths his sword. He gestures toward a small stone resting at the entrance to an overgrown trail. “The carving on that stone, it’s a symbol in Elvish for ‘refuge.’ There must have been an old hunting lodge here once.”

There isn’t an ounce of curiosity in you to go and examine it as you wearily take a step away from him, from everyone, feeling woozy for no good reason.

“But, it wouldn’t still be standing, would it?” Nia asks in disbelief.

“Anything’s better than sleeping out in the open,” he reminds her gently. “Let us eat, and then we will rest.”

“You’re mentioning this now?!” Mal demands, but he’s quick to pour himself a bowl without further hesitation.

“As Nia said, it may just be a slab of stone abandoned to the elements, but I see no more harm in relocating to check it out if we can’t even escape the most mild of inconveniences otherwise,” Tyril shrugs, moving to get his own.

You sink back down onto your log, still feeling itchy, vulnerable, and not a small amount of near tears as you pull out some bandages from your bag instead, hoping your long dark hair is hiding your face and deciding the scratches really weren’t that bad as you try and plaster them on in the edge of the light's reach. The leather vest had taken the worst of the damage and still come out reasonably intact anyways. 

You heard her get up, you felt her approach, but you don’t dare look up until she’s sitting silently behind you and takes the bandages gently from your hand. With a small splash, she’s got a wet rag brushing gently against the wounds and then is tenderly applying the bandages.

Her rough hands are gentle, and precise. You dare to do nothing but hold your hair out of the way as she works, knowing she can probably hear your heart thundering every single time her warm hands brush against you again. 

All cleaned up, her hands linger in place, one gently upon your arm as if you’d been squirming, and with the other, ever so softly, she presses the pads of her fingers in around the curve of your shoulder into your neck. You can’t help a soft gasp of surprise as she moves her fingers tenderly right there, and finally force yourself to look over your shoulder and meet her eyes.

“…let me know if you want me to add to those,” Imtura whispers softly, giving your shoulder one last squeeze, letting one rough nail catch, and then getting up to walk off.

You sit paralyzed, afraid to move a single inch as your loins quiver and inflate painfully fast. After several long, deep breaths, you throw your shirt back on, excuse yourself to the bathroom, and come back to your own helping of rabbit stew… and sit as close to Imtura as ever.

It takes no time at all to pack away the bit of leftovers and break camp to begin walking carefully down the path, but it is full dark now.

Tyril leads you down the trail, hacking through dense vines and twisted branches with his sword. 

“Well I’ll be damned,” Imtura murmurs, seeing well over his shoulder before the rest of you can.

The trees part to reveal the old lodge in decent, if not stellar, shape. Wood beams and mossy stones form the building’s frame. It resembles something of a fancy cottage you’d see in a story book if there wasn’t half a tree growing out of its blue gabled roof. Something of its leveled, rounded tops and beautiful arches gives it a timeless feel you quite enjoy looking at.

“Look, the Deadwood’s decay hasn’t touched the ground around it,” Nia utters in awe, bending down to brush the earth with her fingers. Threep squirms in her arms, his little paws coming out to clutch her arm in a hug for stability. 

As your party moves closer, cautiously, you see what she means. Stubborn shoots of green grass poke through the ashy, dry dirt. Even the gnarled trees are bent away from the lodge. It’s not as preserved as the little clearing you’d found the knife, but it imbues a sense of hope in you for this forest not being out of a chance to be what it once was.

“There must be an ancient protective magic cast on these grounds,” Tyril nods his head happily. “Let’s hope it’ll keep us safe through the night.”

He leads you all into the lodge. Though it’s in decent shape, the inside is gloomy and worn-down. You can’t stop yourself from smiling at every new elvish thing your eyes rest upon, not caring it’s just a house to him. It is literally as close as you’ve ever been to something so primally a part of yourself. The room is as large and wide open a space as the Wraith, and you could study the fine detail in every gold thread of decoration upon the walls, the bare stone floors for hours…

“The air feels so heavy in here,” Nia frowns, twisting her fingers through it strangely. “Like a sorrow that can’t be lifted.”

“Someone’s been reading too much poetry,” Mal chuckles, giving a curl in her hair a friendly tweak as he walks past.

A massive hearth stands in the center of the lodge’s great hall, a few sooty smears the only evidence it’s ever been used. “It looks like there are several rooms branching off this main hall.” Tyril brushes his hands curiously over the centerpiece for only a moment before turning away with a satisfied nod. “Nothing fancy, but at least it’s shelter.”

“Are you kidding?” You laugh at his dismissive tone. “I could fit our old home back in Riverbend inside that fireplace alone! This’ll do more than fine!”

“I’ll be taking the room furthest from the front door,” Mal says with a cheery wave to you all. He's already dropped his bag inside the doorway of said room with a punctual yawn. “Just in case we get any unexpected guests in the night.” He flashes Imtura one last lingering, obvious look.

The others poke around the lodge, claiming their own rooms, but you’re to distracted by still taking it all in, and notice something hanging on the mantel thickly shrouded in dust. “Hmm,” you mutter, heading cautiously over and wiping gingerly at the grime with the sleeve of your shirt…. revealing an elegantly carved wooden longbow.

Your mouth is already falling open in shock and awe. It is a genuine ancient elven hunting bow! Truly the most intricately crafted weapon you’d ever see in your life, even more so than the knife you’d just found. It’s sinuous gold and white material all but hums with magic from just your first non-touch. The string is a fine glimmering thread that twinkles in the nonexistent light. The handle looks smooth and well used in a thick golden plating that you already know will be warm to the touch.

“A bow of Gal’dariel,” Tyril makes you startle hard, whirling around to see he’s joined you. You swallow painfully, but watch him eagerly as he leans close to study it. “Incredibly powerful and precise. A true weapon of power. There were only a hundred made. Surprising to see one here.”

He sees the awe with which you stare at it, and he smiles. No hesitation, nothing at all in his gentle eyes except warmth. “You should take it, if you want.”

“M-me?” You stutter, not believing your ears. “Are you sure?”

“Who better than you? Certainly none of us have your skill with this weapon,” Tyril doesn’t look away for a moment. “It was left here to be found, which means it was your destiny to find it.”

You glance down at the cheap imitation bow Nia had bought you so long ago in Port Parnassus that, in all fairness, was literally the best bow you’d ever had in your life. It was sturdy and had lasted you longer than any others you’d ever made for yourself… but every time you looked at it, you were reminded of the one you’d lost at the Temple of Ellara. 

What had you done to earn such a thing as this ultimate upgrade? You didn’t even know how to pronounce a single word in elvish. You’d learned your skill by teaching yourself for years on end of practice, it was that or go hungry as foraging and pity had only taken the two of you so far. Surely Tyril knew of a dozen bowman who had been taught by the finest masters who could put this thing to better use…

“I, I don’t know what to say,” you stutter.

“Say yes,” Tyril says it so simply.

So with a gentle, shaking hand, you ease the bow down from its display and turn it over in your hands. The thin carvings depict an idyllic forest scene imagery, complete with prancing deer, just deer?, lush waterfalls, and bright, blossoming trees that almost move every time you tip it another way to see like a picture that won’t be contained. “It’s, it’s beautiful…” You test the bow’s heft and check the notches for the bowstring. It’s in remarkably good condition, and feels perfectly molded to your grip. “Tell, tell me how you pronounce it again,” you ask, feeling light headed.

“Gal’dariel,” he pronounces slowly and elegantly as ever on that silver tongue, putting emphasis just where it was needed. There is no hint of disdain in his voice, just the same gentle speech he’d given that first night you spoke. You hadn’t really spoken much since.

This felt like an enormous huge leap forward in terms of… gods, you didn’t even know what to call it other than friendship. Companionship? You’d honestly started to begin wondering if he was growing to loathe your presence as some sort of lacking and holding him back up to this moment.

You test the bow out, nocking one of your precious remaining arrows, and pulling the string taught. It glides so smoothly in your hand it’s startling, and you almost release. The pull, the weight is there in your arm and shoulder, but the draw is like you're gently tugging on a string with no resistance. You reluctantly don’t fire and sling it over your shoulder, setting the other down in its place back on the mantel. A paltry comparison.

Much like you and Tyril.

“Thank you,” you tell him sincerely. “I’ll use it well.” … maybe with this bow’s help, we can restore the woods to their former beauty … it’s an inane thought. You have no idea where it came from except the beautiful weapon itself filling you with hope for something better. 

Tyril hesitates, and then gently clasps your shoulder. “I know you will.”

He turns, walks off, but then hesitates a moment more and turns back. “Your arrows have been blessed now.” Then he departs.

Blinking after him like he’d just made a joke, you pull your quiver down to see- he was right! It was fully stocked with strange new arrows! With a wild yelp, you pull one out to see they were of the same grand material as the bow. Lighter than the feathers for the fletching, gold and silver! From the space of where you’d just pulled one out to inspect, there is a strange glimmering in the air, and then a gentle clatter of a new arrow appearing in its place.

You were never going to be able to go back to a regular old bow and arrow again as you wipe a bit of drool off your chin and hastily straighten up, looking around- only to abruptly remember Kade isn’t here to gawk with you.

Your companions rejoin you all in the great room, and Nia kneels down before the fireplace. 

“We should probably gather some more firewood before it gets any darker.” Mal groans, digging his knuckles into his back at the idea of the task.

Nia presses her palms together and whispers under her breath. When she pulls her hands apart, a spark leaps out and into the hearth. The room is instantly brightened and warmed as if her spirit itself was infusing the room through the crackling flames. “There! Problem solved.” She says in delight as the soft golden glow washes over you all. Though there are no logs burning, the room feels cozy and inviting at last. 

“Ah! That’s just what I needed to warm my bones,” Imtura nods in appreciation, stepping right up and nearly putting her hands inside she leans so close with a groan of appreciation. “Thanks priestess.” 

“Anything I can do to help,” Nia says brightly.

“When are you teaching me that spell?” You laugh in delight, sitting down eagerly next to her.

“-Hmph,” Tyril’s scathing voice quickly cuts in. “You shouldn’t be wasting your Light like that, Nia.”

“It’s her Light. She can use it how she wants!” You snap at once, only restraining yourself by the barest thread not to get to your feet and punch him. You’re so tired of his whiplash moods and his near negative opinion on all of you. The only thing he ever seems to enjoy doing for long is bickering with Mal!

You take a deep breath though, and ease your tone back into something light and teasing, you are not angling for a fight. “Besides, I didn’t see you rushing to gather firewood for us. Admit it, these woods scare you just as much as the rest of us.”

“The Deadwood is beside the point,” his voice is even sharper than usual as he glowers down at the pair of you. “The point is she’s squandering what she has.” He takes in your blank expression as you glance at Nia. “You, you really don’t know, do you?” He struggles to articulate.

“Know, what?” You prompt, admitting to yourself you’d clearly missed something… not a great showing putting your foot in your mouth after getting a brand new bow-

“Tyril,” but Nia’s voice is cautious… almost a warning. 

This was getting stranger by the moment. 

“The Light isn’t free,” to your astonishment, Tyril bends his form gracefully to sit in front of you, and there’s a sudden lump in your throat at how he leans forward. It’s a zealous light in his eye to explain. This energy almost scares you, and you have a feeling it's almost his intention as he seems to look all over you as if expecting the rock to appear in your palm again any moment. The tense set of his mouth in fact almost guarantees that’s exactly what he’s thinking as his eyes flicker between you and Nia. “Like everything, it comes with a price. A hefty one, particularly for humans. Every time someone uses their magic, it’s fueled by some of their own lifeforce. They’re literally trading away their life for it.”

Nia ducks her head, not looking at any of you, but not fast enough to hide the shame in her eyes.

“ What?” You help, honestly wishing you’d misheard. You can’t help a painful look at Nia, the sting of betrayal washing off of you nothing you’d have ever expected from her gentle form.

“That’s, dark,” Mal says slowly. You’d almost forgotten he and Imtura were still there, but they’ve backed cautiously away from the fire now, and are eying Nia with the same level concern dominant in Tyril as if he fears she’s about to drop dead.

“Nia! You, you taught me that spell and- were you going to tell me this?!” You choke out.

“I was!” She says hastily, reaching for your hand. You let her, your fingers curling in confusion around hers, wanting to understand as she hastily looks at you. “I was just, looking for the right moment.” You almost wish to pull back, but she wraps her other hand around yours tighter. “It’s not as bad as Tyril makes it sound!” She insists earnestly. “A simple spell like lighting a fire or making an Orb of Light is just worth minutes of lifeforce.”

… so she does know exactly what Tyril is talking about, and it still hurts.

“Minutes add up Nia,” Tyril’s still gauging her with new calculating eyes. You can clearly see the question he longs to hurl at her he’s resisting, to know exactly what tutelage she’d been given up to this moment. “They become hours. Days. Weeks. Years.” He seems truly sad as he settles his gaze back on you.

A long ago conversation echoes back in your head, Our magic doesn’t mix, our costumes, our way of life... this was absolutely one of the things he’d meant that night.

“That’s, horrible,” you’re almost shaking at this new altering to your world, but now find yourself clutching Nia’s hand back. “Why didn’t you tell me this? You can’t just trade your life away to help, for what?! A stupid fire!”

“A fire spell is nothing,” she insists. “And, besides, it’s my choice! It’s, my strength.”

You flinch at her throwing those words back in your face. You finally pull your hand away, and she lets you as you wonder how many years of your life you lost throwing all of that magic at that old pirate orc captain. Surely not enough it would be too noticeable…

“Is it really though?” Mal snaps, he really can never stay silent. It’s almost impressive, but there’s a painful burning in the back of your throat as you can’t look at anything but the merrily crackling fire. “As I recall, you didn’t have a choice about joining the Temple of Light! You were just a child when they took you in!”

“They exploited you, used you,” Imtura agrees, wrath evident in her tone as she stares down at her as well. 

“No!” Nia scrambles to her feet, her skirt flowing around wildly as she tries desperately to defend, not herself, but some idea you can’t really wrap your head around right now. “They fostered me! Gave me a home, a calling!”

“The Light has great purpose,” Tyril agrees, his tone wavering between terse and gentle like only he can. An elven blade that can slice a throat as easily as it could cut you free. “But it shouldn’t be spent so frivolously. It deserves reverence.”

“What, you don’t trust her to decide when she’s best served using it?” Threep yelps from her bag, wigging out to join in. You’d almost forgotten he was here to be honest. He makes himself known now as he flutters over to her shoulder without further hesitation.

Far from looking reassured at anyone coming to her defense, Nia rubs a gentle hand over the nesper in quiet contemplation for a moment. “I guess, I see your points.” She turns back to look at you, nothing but weary curiosity. “Syrum? What do you think?”

You know what she’s really asking. If you want her to continue teaching you. 

Honestly, you don’t know anymore. You need to think on it.

With a feeling of gut wrenching pain, you force a smile into place and say, “Maybe it wasn’t your choice to become a priestess to begin with, but you’re clearly very passionate about it.” 

“Precisely my point,” if a cat can smirk, Threep is doing it. “It is ultimately her choice!”

“I think you’re the best judge of when and how to use your own Light, and no one else should tell you otherwise,” you sigh. You wish you could rage and storm at her to take this more seriously, to care about herself and those minutes… but she knows the consequences to her own actions. She already knows that, and you yelling it in her face won’t change who she is. 

OR BOLAS OR

“I’m sorry Nia, but I do agree with Mal on this one,” you admit, bracing yourself for, you don’t even know what, but the sickening feeling as you gaze at her necklace with a gemstone missing makes you feel ill all the same. “It doesn’t sound to me like you had much of a choice if you were raised not to take this seriously. You didn’t ask to take this path at all, you were forced into it when you were just a kid. That’s not fair.”

“Thank you!” Mal spits into the fire. She flinches, and you resist the urge to punch him. He really knew how to make the right point sound wrong sometimes. “It should have been her decision!” There is something deeply personal in his anger though, something you’d only seen hints of up to this point. 

You reach out for her, and she still gently takes your hand, but there’s only familiar sadness now in her deep hazel eyes. “Even if it’s your choice how to use it now, I think it’s sad the priests would ask children to make such a commitment,” you frown.

“I guess, you’re right,” she sighs, and you know she’s thinking the same as you, those orphans she’d once been so appalled to see as thieves. “But, I can’t remember a time when I didn’t want to use the Light,” she says more earnestly, that smile you knew so well lingering. “I never thought about it like I was being forced.”

You were sure those other children didn’t either. They were happy to do what they were doing just to survive, have the praise and protection of an adult looking after them. You’d never had that, not really. The amount of times you and Kade had fallen asleep next to the river out in the open, exposed, talking and lazily skipping rocks with only water to fill your empty bellies two days in a row because there just hadn’t been any extra to go around… if somebody had appeared to you and said they’d teach you magic in exchange for a few measly minutes of your life, you probably wouldn’t have hesitated either.

OR BOLAS OR

“But, I agree with Tyril,” you can’t help but say, looking away from her wide eyes, down at your boots. “You only have so much life to give Nia. You should save it for when it really matters. To you, not the priests, not anyone else.”

You glance cautiously back up at her to see her biting her lip, looking near tears.

“Exactly,” Tyril’s cutting, acid agreement feels no better. “We’ll need every bit we can get to fight the Shadow Court!”

Yeah, definitely not what was on your mind, but also, kind of a valid point.

“I hate to think I’ve made you take weeks off your life just for me and my brother,” you hastily add, looking back at her.

“I see your point,” she says graciously, but there’s a new tenseness to her shoulders you’d have never imagined there before. “But, I’m always happy to use the Light to help someone in need!” She says with the same burning passion of the day you met her, desperate to do anything for her Scholar. She smiles weakly at you. “Thank you Syrum, but, I do hate for you all to worry about me. Shall I, erm, well, what should I do moving forward?” She twiddles her fingers nervously and looks at the other three as if expecting them to chastise her in your absence. 

“You should-” the words catch painfully in your throat, but you clear them out hastily and force yourself to say to her, “you should use it whenever you wish Nia. It’s, your life. At the end of the day, it is your Light, not ours. We don’t have the right to tell you what to do with it.”

She kneels back before you, causing Threep to flutter and be dislodged as she throws her arms around you. You’ve never felt so ill accepting a hug as you pat her back and she trills in your ear, “thank you Syrum!” She leans back, leaving a new pit in your stomach as she does. “But I will be more careful going forward, I promise. We have many trials ahead to purify the Shards and hold off the Shadow Court. I have not forgotten.”

Mal yawns loudly in the following silence. You probably owe him a good non-ill hug or two for being how he was. “You are all welcome to continue this riveting philosophical debate. But I am going to hit the hay!” There’s an edge to his voice, but he gives Nia a cordial nod all the same. Respecting her decision, but very clearly not done with this.

“Me too,” Imtura sighs, rubbing at the edge of one of her horns. “The sooner we’re back on the road, the better I’ll feel.”

Tyril gives the two of you one last look that is reminiscent of Mrs. Foster watching her kids run off, knowing they’re doing something she doesn’t approve, but knowing she can’t stop them. There’s no tutting and snapping of a towel, but the look is there all the same as he gets up and leaves.

Nia too gives you one last smile, but it’s a sad, small thing compared to what it usually is as she squeezes your arm and gets up to her own room. You scoop up Threep and cuddle with him on the rug by the fire in silence for a while as he “mrrows” in your lap in content. Broken memories swivel in your mind of everything that had happened in your life up to this moment. How was it every new thing you learned about the world somehow made this more complicated by the day?...

The wind whistles through the dead trees of the Deadwood, strange howls and cries ring through the night. You can’t help but snort as you eye Imtura’s door and realize nobody exactly set up camp near the entrance for guard duty. Apparently they all felt plenty safe in these walls. 

You, on the other hand, were not getting any sleep any time soon. 

… you were scared. There, you admitted it. Scared, and lonely… you missed your brother, the kind of ache that was nothing you could ever shake… but for the first time, since that first night he’d been ripped away… you find your thoughts aren’t on your old room sleeping only a bed bundle away from him as you stare at the door Imtura had gone into… and the back of your neck tingles.

Not giving yourself a moment of hesitation to talk yourself out of this, you lay Threep on the rug. He doesn’t even stir in his sleep as he grumbles and folds his wings tight.

You knock forcefully on Imtura’s door. 

“Yeah, yeah, gimme a minute,” her rumbling answer doesn’t have a hint of sleep in it from the other side of the door as the rustle of material is shifted around. “Ah, Syrum, what bring you by?” She leans casually against the frame and eyes you with interest.

You almost do chicken out. The amused, flashing gold and green of her eyes you get lost in so easily resting solely on you… Had she changed her mind… but no. She’s just standing there, her smile inviting. She’s waiting for you to have the orc-balls to say it. “I, I can’t sleep, and I thought maybe-”

“Need some company do you?” She chuckles, and steps aside. “Me too. Come on in.”

You step inside to see a sparse but fairly comfortable room. The bed is large and sturdy, and the warm glow of Nia’s life-fire reaches even through the door she closes behind you. You swallow and force yourself not to start fidgeting as Imtura lounges out in the chair in the corner of the room with a stretch. “I don’t do so great sleeping alone myself. Too used to the close quarters on my ship. Doesn’t count as a good night’s sleep if my crew’s snores haven't woken me up at least twice! Not a sound of the ocean out here to even drown them out!”

“You miss being out there,” it’s not really a question as you voice your, admittedly minimal, regret for her being here.

“A little,” she agrees, tipping her head curiously as she watches you. “The open water was always soothing. So full of possibility, y’know?”

“It sounds so freeing,” you agree, a longing of breathless salt air yourself as you grin. “I can’t imagine how exciting it must feel, getting to sail the world, knowing your next big score could be up ahead.”

“Ha! That’s the spirit!” She sits upright properly in the chair so she can smack her leg in agreement. “Although it isn’t all raiding and rum-drinking. Sometimes there’s nothing up ahead but an even meaner crew than mine. To say nothing of sea-monsters,” she gives an exaggerated shutter and mutters something about a kraken.

“Something tells me the sea monsters are more scared of you than you are of them,” you chuckle, shifting restlessly in place. You want to move closer, but that feels presumptuous, you want to sit down, but the bed feels presumptuous-

“You know your stuff Syrum,” she nods, leaning forward in her seat, resting her elbows comfortably. “It ain’t just the pirates I’ve got a reputation among on the seas. Besides, no sea monster’s as scary as my mother when you cross her.” Her chuckle is rather forced.

You frown and take an automatic step towards her now without thought. “I can’t imagine she’s going to be too pleased you ran off with us,” you manage to say with a teasing grin, still half expecting to look over your shoulder and see Ventra pointing a spear at you some nights when you wake up.

“I’m, trying not to think about it too much,” she sighs. “To be honest, I’ve always hoped that if I run long enough, or far enough away, she might give up on me.”

“Is that what you want her to do? Forget you exist?” You ask, not really able to wrap your mind around such a thing.

“No. Yes? Maybe. I, really don’t know,” she sighs again, running her hands through her hair now in frustration and glaring at the world beyond. But she turns back, and looks at you. There’s something in the air between you, a current, a charge as she takes a ragged breath. “Syrum, what do you think I should do? I feel like I’m outta options when it comes to her.”

“Me?” You want to protest. You didn't even have a mother, what right did you really have to go giving her advice. 

She only nods once, her horns, her eyes flashing in the low light have nothing on the dark flush of green that is her radiant skin. She did ask you all the same. You give her your honest answer. “Put your foot down. You don’t have to rule, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” It was the exact same thing you’d said to Nia, and you’d say it to every orc’s face too if you had to. “It’s not your mother’s place to decide what you do with your life! You just have to tell her plainly that you’re not interested in leading the united Clans, and she can go find someone who is.”

“Hah,” her little laugh is exhausted and strained as she shakes her head. “Tried that. Still have the scars from the duel she challenged me to after.”

A wave of horror slams into you harsher than any ocean wave could manage. “ Duel?!”

“She’s not the kind of lady used to being told no,” Imtura shrugs, scratching absently at her ribs. “Even from her own daughter.” She blows out a frustrated breath through her lips. It makes a strange whistling noise against her tusks. “My life’s much easier the way it is. I’m only responsible for as many folk as I can count on my two hands. And it’s a lot more exciting than endless council meetings.” She says with a suggestive look at you and a real laugh.

“Well I can’t argue with that,” you match her laugh.

“I dunno Syrum,” a frown still tugs at her lips, but she swallows and continues looking hungrily at you like you’re still holding an answer hostage. “Maybe I’m just being immature about all this, like Mother says. Do you think I’m being irresponsible? Have you ever had to do something you didn’t want to?”

“You’re more capable than you think,” you’d moved closer with no conscious decision to do so. Just out of arm's reach now, your voice a low, fervent whisper. “You’re a natural leader. And sometimes being a leader means doing the hard thing. You’ll know what’s right for you.”

“Like running away from my mother?” She demands with a sad chuckle.

“Like deciding to take on the Shadow Court with the rest of us, putting yourself in the path of a worse danger than you’ve ever faced before,” you remind her with a burning passion, clutching your satchel tight and bursting to share the pride you had in your group with her. “Trampling through the Deadwood instead of sailing your beloved seas,” you add lightly.

“I’ve seen enough trees to last a lifetime,” she groans, throwing a distasteful look at the window.

“My point is,” you grin, “you’re doing this to help the rest of us, help the world. When you have other people counting on you, you’ll do what has to be done. I know it.”

She tips her head to the side again, appraising you. “Thanks, Syrum. That, actually means a lot, coming from you.”

You’re not sure what she means by that. An elf? You specifically? You don’t get a chance to ask as she bounces to her feet and takes that last step toward you. “You’re so good at leading our crew, after all, and putting everything into perspective. You’re a hell of a captain.”

Leading?! There is a painful rush of emotion drowning out everything in you as she gently brushes your chin. Just that light touch, and you cannot think past a murmuring, “you think so?” Your voice does not shake under her strong grip.

“I know so,” she whispers, her lips a breath apart. “Syrum, I know this might sound like I’ve lost my mind, but I think meeting you was one of the best things that ever happened to me.” Your breath makes a painful catch as it snatches in and out of your throat, mingling with hers blowing right in your face. Your foreheads are nearly touching. Her hand rests on your hip, hot to your core, sending a shiver running through you as she pulls you closer. “I’m honored to fight for you. To know you. I, erm, I-”

You kiss her. You lean forward that last arc of parting skin, your lips finding hers in a tentative, gentle press. Her tusks press firmly against you, framing your lips. They’re cool to her flush, warm skin. There’s just one moment of hesitation, and then she kisses you back heartily, passionately, her hand tight on your chin now.

“Mmph,” the noise that escapes your throat is like nothing you’ve ever felt in your life as your hands snap up to clutch her vest, needing more.

She pulls away, forehead against yours, her horns cool to your heated face, her hands running down your sides. Your satchel falls with a slight thump to the ground, and you let it. “You know what I say to that?” She asks, a growl deep in the back of her throat.

“What?” You say, trying to do anything other than gasp and blink. 

With a hearty laugh, she scoops you up by your hips, her hands resting on your ass and hitching you right against her so you’re now perfectly level. “It’s about damn time,” she smirks. She hauls you up against the wall, pinning you there, and kissing you eagerly, hungrily. Her mouth plunders yours, her tongue knowing exactly where to curl and press, the taste of her is a new breathless thing as your fingers move deep into the roots of her hair to have more.

“Mmmmph,” you wrap your arms around her shoulders and try to match her fierce kissing with your own. Imtura runs her mouth down your jaw and nips at your throat with a sly grin on her face, leaving you panting and the air feeling like poison with even that bit of her gone as the wall behind you molds your back firmly from how much closer she moves.

“I’ve been wanting to do this ever since I saw you fight that grobtar,” she pants, one hand already slipping past your shirt to start running up your back however she can. Her hand rests for a moment on the back of your neck again, and she squeezes lightly. You squirm against where she has you pinned, but her grip is secure on your hip as your legs do nothing to draw her solid hips in further.

“... that’s what did it for you, huh?” You laugh in delight. Somewhere in the far back of your mind, you realize Mal had been right. You might owe him an apology or two. The room is also spinning everywhere except where she is.

“I’m a gal of simple tastes,” she shrugs, then she flings you onto the bed and climbs on top of you, laughing at the blast of air that escaped you while she peppers you with more kisses, waves and waves of them as your fingers card through her hair. Then she takes hold of both your wrists and pins them to the bed. 

“Well, this is what I’ve been imagining since I saw you fight that grobtar,” you breathlessly agree.

Imtura lets out a hearty laugh, gaze rich with affection, desire as she stares down at you shifting her weight eagerly above you. “Syrum, it’s about damn time you were all mine.” She leans down and laps at your neck, your shoulder, nipping and sucking as she goes. Your leather vest had vanished at some point, probably when she flung you over here. Your tattered shirt is clearly in her way, and she’s not having it well as she keeps roughly pushing it aside, up and down at her leisure.  

“Mmhm,” the moan resonates from deep in your chest, you strain against her iron grip and it only makes her press down harder as your eyes roll into the back of your head. With a hungry snarl, she nuzzles against your throat. 

“You gonna stay the night with me?” She asks breathlessly, shifting her weight around very deliberately against you. 

“I’m all yours,” the simple way you said it sounds ridiculous, nothing like the profound feeling of how you’d felt intrinsically tied to her presence the moment you’d laid eyes on her. 

“I’d hoped you’d say that,” she bites at your earlobe before kissing you again, hands squeezing your wrists, her intensity sparking an equal ferocity within you. 

“Imtura!” Even the way her name rolled off your tongue felt electric, new, before she swallowed you again for more.

The two of you kiss again and again, over and over, chasing after the other when that pesky air problem gets in the way, and somewhere in the way she tightens her grip upon your hip and keeps you pinned beneath her but after she’d finally taken off your shirt you realize she’s just as nervous as you are.

There’s a deliberate feel to the air as each of you waits for something that doesn’t come, but neither of you want it to stop as you take the brief second your hand is free while she flings your shirt aside to run your fingers under her vest, across the broad plains of her shoulder.

She doesn’t snatch your hand back, instead hastily laughs, but there’s a nervous energy as she takes her vest and furs off and bares herself before you.

“You’re so beautiful,” you murmur, twisting your fingers in her hair as it cascades all around you both, setting the world on fire. You run your hand more deliberately over her broad shoulders, mesmerized by the smooth planes of her skin beneath your fingers and even more so where a catch or scar is as you trace all the way down to her hand. She catches you there, and twists her fingers with yours.

“You’re like no one I’ve ever met,” she murmurs, retreating your captured digits back to lock up where the other one was scrabbling into the bedding as she bends down and continues kissing all senses out of you. 

She’s everywhere, she’s everything as her weight, her breasts press into you. The feeling of her nipples pebbled and rock hard moving against you, her taste, her skin against yours. Your legs scrabble uselessly on the bed for purchase, hips trying to twist yourself closer, desperate for more, but it only makes her chuckle and press down harder, angle herself against you, closing her eyes and murmuring little nothings you can’t quite make out. 

Imtura moans as you keep trying to wrench your wrists free with one hand, the other traces back down to your hip, your ass as her fingers dig in with bruising force and her legs spread wider eagerly, she only swallows your whimpers of need as she rocks against your hard length, and this goes on, for what feels like hours, years… she wants it, wants you, but for whatever reason she doesn’t take you and this makes your head swim and leaves you breathless. 

Frankly, your miracle for the year was that you lasted as long as you did as you feel the tension in yourself come loose with one last desperate buck from your hips that still does nothing as her fingers trace your wrists, pressing her thumb eagerly into your palm and it only makes you cum harder with a deep, needy moan.

Her sigh of ecstasy matches yours, her lips are trembling as hard as your jaw as she presses one last desperate, eager kiss against you.

You both collapse, exhausted and happy. “Fuck,” she gasps into your neck.

“Yeah, that,” you murmur in a daze. 

With a groan, her breathing is still heavy, she rolls onto her back off of you and you instantly follow, still clinging to her, your hands tingling as blood rushes into them and she chuckles, her hand sliding up only far enough to hold your waist as she drifts off into a deep sleep. There is not a moment of hesitation as your eyes sink closed and you follow, smiling, nuzzling against her neck, resting upon her bare , warm chest as her breaths ease gently in and out.

Elsewhere…

                      There’s a sharp knock not to be ignored, and Tyril opens the door impatiently. “What is it now?”

“We need to talk,” Mal says, inviting himself inside.

Tyril stands there for a count of ten before he releases a weary breath and closes the door.

One kind thing Tyril had to say about him, Mal wasn’t much for preamble. “I swear if you make that kid feel like a freak one more time, geese and lapna will be the least of your concern! Is it impossible for you to go five minutes?! ”

"I do not care whom Syrum courts," Tyril says flatly, clearly not appreciating the insinuation. 

“This isn’t just about Imtura,” Mal sneers, waving his hand impatiently through the air, "though you might want to tell him that, because neither of us got the memo. He's had a rough enough go of it, he doesn't need the likes of you making a face every time he wants to laugh with the damn girl or talk to animals or whatever other thing he doesn’t know about!"

"I-" Tyril tries again, before swallowing and forcing himself to explain rather than what he clearly wanted to do, which is lop off Mal's head. His eyes dart from the aggravating human before him, to the mountains beyond. "I, agree."

Mal is so rocked, he actually stumbles on the spot. Tyril watches inquisitively, as if to rate his landing if he goes into the fireplace before Mal catches himself.

"I said I do not care, and I don't," Tyril shrugs. "It is, unorthodox to be certain, but what care have I for whom the young lad chooses to be with? She makes him, happy."

There it was, Mal's eyes narrow. "But?" He scowls, at least confident enough Tyril isn't the kind of petty person who would wallow at someone else's happiness and make it so obvious…

"But, others will not see it that way," Tyril sighs, again looking far off to where his home...their home could lay. 

"Ah," Mal says, though he's no more impressed. Syrum wasn't from there, but gods it had been painfully obvious from the start he'd sure dreamed of it a time or two since meeting Tyril. "Well," Mal's still wound up. "Then they can have the same answer of a fist in their mouth if they say anything. You have got to stop making this harder on him!”

There’s a flash of deep respect in Tyril’s eyes, but it’s clouded over with regret at once. "It is not so simple Mal, and you know that," Tyril's frown is apologetic, as if trying to convey to him of all people the world at large. "He may not even admit it to himself, but when he enters there, he will want to be accepted by his own people.”

Mal opens, and closes his mouth, and knows he can’t argue with that. Tyril nods. “Having an orc and a few humans along will be strange enough, he has no idea of what he's about to encounter and I can't begin to prepare him. Being entangled with an orc on top of that, as flagrant as he is about it too," there's some small affection in Tyril's voice he doesn't bother to hide as he smiles to the door, but it again tapers right back off into a frown. 

"I am trying to think how to, prepare him, brace him for this, for everything. I did warn him once of how, divided the world was, how we keep ourselves apart for a reason… it shouldn’t have been Nia to teach him magic. I know that, it should have been me, to warn him properly of all this, but I didn’t think, I don’t think I have grasped how little," he trails off with a sigh, clearly still assessing himself to realizing the utter ignorance in their young charge who carried the word on his back.

Mal gives his shoulder a gentle nudge, startling Tyril to turning back to see Mal's smile now matching. Still far more flippant than the elf's could ever be, but also, vaguely apologetic. "We can't. We support him, and we offer him whatever advice we can, but we can only be there for him when it doesn't go his way, Tyril. That's what friends do."

The elf looks again off to the distance, but then looks just as quickly back, and even nods in agreement. "You are right. I will, apologize for my behavior. I want Syrum to know I think no ill will of him, or Imtura of course. She has been nothing but a good friend to all of us since her initial arrival of trying to murder us."

"Funny how that seems to find you the closest companions," Mal agrees with a wicked grin at Tyril, who even manages a small laugh back. They both knew there had been that one, brief second Tyril had been considering cutting down Mal just for the sheer annoyance he was of being in the way of his path. 

…”your bandages are filthy. When’s the last time you cleaned your hand?” Tyril says abruptly.

Mal looks down at his hand in surprise, and shakes off the crumpled brown mess now also covered in fur. “It’s fine, it’s almost healed,” he shrugs, prodding around the scabbed flesh.

Tyril huffs and rolls his eyes. “Fine by me if you get an infection.”

There’s an awkward pause for a moment as they both look away. Mal scratches absently at his beard, and Tyril sighs. “May I go to sleep now, or is there something else you’d like to get off your chest?”

Mal looks back, opens his mouth. Tyril can all but see the crude joke he’s about to make… but then he doesn’t. He shrugs, and stalks out.

Humans.

When Mal gets back to his room, he sees Nia’s made herself comfortable on the chair in the corner. She blushes and won’t meet his eyes. “Sorry, I’ve never slept alone before, and, Syrum’s, erm, not, well-”

“Let me know if you’d like another blanket Nia,” Mal shrugs, throwing himself on the rug in front of the empty grate without further ado. She blinks once, tries to utter a soft protest about him being out a bed, but he’s already snoring with great exaggeration.

She pads softly over, takes the blankets off and gently places them over him, but then climbs into the bed with a smile. 

The next morning…

                     Just as she’d promised, you did wake up with a few extra scratches. You can feel them as a slight raise in your skin as you stretch,  everywhere her tusks had scraped against you. All over your neck and chest. Your hand flutters up to your swollen lips to find them smiling before you even open your eyes.

Gods you’d never woken up feeling so warm and content in your life as her chest rises and falls in a blazing heat, you can feel her heartbeat where yours overlaps. There’s a pale, watery dawn settling around the air of the Deadwood beyond the flimsy curtain of the window. You slide out of bed, careful not to wake Imtura sprawled out comfortably on her back, but can’t stop your heart trembling as she grumbles and shifts her weight at the absence of your warmth as you glance back. She’s kicked the blanket off, but then snatched it tight to her chest instead, covering her breasts, nuzzling into its warmth you’d both been wrapped in. You very much wish to just crawl right back into that blanket, her arms…. but gods you needed to take a piss.

With a regretful sigh, you find your shirt and vest and shrug them back on… not sneaking out of the room… but certainly relieved to glance around and see you are the first one awake. 

That taken care of, you’re rummaging around for breakfast, wondering in frustration who had tucked away the dry rations, as sadly that stew was long gone. They were barely edible, but it was better than going hunting which would only draw you out alone. 

As you dig through another storage pack, you hear shouts from the forest!

“HELP!”

“-keep your head on straight, you fool!”

You race to the window to find two well-dressed human men running out of the forest. They’re in robes, finer than anything you’ve ever seen with actual gems embedded into their thick furs. One’s a little shorter, a little chubbier in the face, but they both have distinct curly black hair and the same angular noses and eyes.

Brothers. Running for their lives.

“Is someone there? Let us in! HELP!” The younger one in red pleads, the gold of his attire flashing with every step as he makes a beeline for your cabin. 

Out of the tree line behind them come creatures chittering in a hum of excitement. Horrifyingly large insects, with four wings slamming the air so violently you can feel their buzzing in the soles of your boots from here. With jagged yellow needles erupting over every inch of their purple bodies, their mandibles clasp hungrily at the traces of their torn clothing, the stinger of ones abdomen is swollen and glowing a faint violet only a shade lighter than the rest of their putrid purple body. The ‘bzzzt!’ it makes as it swivels and tries to stab at them makes your heart ache in pain.

They’re about to die.

[stringoflights93]

ok so this is real lazy and sketchy but i saw this tweet and immediately thought of them

[stringoflights93]

Look, I didn’t use to buy into the theory that Tyril & Mal have some kind of relationship happening, even in playthroughs where MC isn’t romancing either of them. But after this chapter…

… all I’m saying is, I can see the potential 🫢

[stringoflights93]

Chapter 6: The Cursed Isle

There hadn’t exactly been an arrest and inquiry of the night's events, though you were sure that was only because you were with the princess upon the murder of an orc with one of your arrows in her hip. 

After that it was rather controlled chaos as you all masterfully made your way back to the Wraith without much more of a diversion thanks to your escort, but Imtura did have to stop a guard or two from stepping in with a very firm look. It hadn’t been the most traumatizing thing you’d endured, but you were still happy to be back aboard her ship sooner rather than later before you had to learn what an orcish jail cell and punishment might be. 

The amount of times you’d been to, and fled a new city in such a fashion was not a stellar record…

She left back into town for only a few more hours, and by the time she was back the sun was rising fast up in the east, and her crew was ready for take off at her command. She gave you a nod and encouraged all of you to take whatever bunk was open below for some rest as she began rattling off orders.

The very next evening as the sun sinks low, you go to her with the glove slipped into place. To your utter astonishment, it’s magic! It weighed a good bit, but once you slipped it on, it had stretched in a horrifying moment like a snake’s jaw, and then clamped smoothly around your hand, now fitting snug against your skin. With just the slightest twist from your other nervous fingers, it had come right off.

Now here you were, ready to put this thing to the test. “Teach me how to use it?”

There’s a charged beat of silence between you, before she breathes hard through her nose and shifts her stance away from the wheel, calling out orders. There’s a deep look of respect in her eyes as she looks back, but something else too… something you can hardly believe, but want to believe looks like interest in her eyes as her checks flash with a rosy color, but only for a moment.

Then she scrapes her tusks against her jaw, rotates it, and shakes herself loose, coming over to you and grasping the gauntlet, and pops it right off your wrist.

“Hey,” you say more in surprise than anything, not resisting if she’d changed her mind, though your arm falls back to your side in disappointment. 

“Keep your arm extended Syrum,” she chuckles, setting the gauntlet at her feet. 

You quickly do so, watching her eagerly. She reaches out and lightly grasps your wrist, and presses your fist into the palm of her hand. It’s as much skin contact as either of you have ever allowed… and that is a thought to be dissected later. She nods in approval to see your thumb carefully folded across your fingers, your wrist straight. “So you do know how to throw a punch?”

“We didn’t have to many bar fights, but I’ve learned a thing or two,” you agree with a shrug. “Locals who come through town, ol’ Russelby who offered me a copper or two if I tossed someone out while he was busy. There was an old pig farmer who used to wrestle in the kings court, though Kade and I always thought he exaggerated those tales, but he’d always tell me if I wanted to be an adventurer, I’d need to be prepared, and taught me how to throw a good right hook.”

“Well all right then,” she grins and releases you, bending back down to pass the gauntlet back. “Let’s see you use it.”

Without further hesitation, you lunge, throwing all of your weight after her.

She dodges neatly, finding herself nearly a full foot away where you’d been aiming, and shakes her head now. “Ah, saw that coming. You won’t be fighting many drunkards out here landrat. I’ve seen you use that bow to good use. It’s the same principle. Don’t focus on the target, focus on where you want your blow to land and follow through.”

“Right,” you nod, frowning in concentration. 

“Wrist straight, elbow tucked in. This time, even if you miss, pull your arm back, you don’t want to leave yourself open and exposed. Try again,” she grins, tipping her weight on the balls of her feet in anticipation.

With a deep breath, you exhale, and swing again, focusing on the space right in front of her sternum. To your shock, you graze the knuckles of the gauntlet right where you’d intended, and look up to see her smiling.

“Quick learner, just as I suspected,” she laughed in delight. Then she grabbed your arm, and flung you away.

You crash into the deck with a familiar ringing in your head from the wooden planks beneath you as she leans over with a smile. “I warned you about that arm though.”

“That you did,” you gasp, taking her offered hand and clambering right back to your feet.

Next time you manage to fix that, she tackles you, pinning you hard to the deck, that ringing right back in your ears. “Got to keep your center more fluid than that.”

You only practice for a while longer before Imtura’s having to be called away for something among her crew, by which time you are positive you’ve collected more bruises from her than you ever have in your life. She gives you a promising wink and says, “you did good, let me know if you want to go again.”

Your blood is coursing through your body as fast as the Wraith is making its way, and you nod after her, stashing the gauntlet back into your satchel, then excuse yourself to the most private quarters you can find and drop your drawers. You’ve never come so fast over yourself in your life, it takes longer to clean up than the few strokes you’d managed upon your burning tight, throbbing staff leaking between your fingers.

It is also the best relief you’ve ever had, the gasp is embarrassing as you sag against the wall wishing you could feel her weight, knees trembling, biting your lip to poorly muffle it, still seeing that flashing smile, those tusks biting into her own lip, the way her skin shimmered in the light of the sunset with a hint of warm red just under her cheeks that could have been a trick of the light in her hair the same color…

Now, a few days later, you find yourself lounging atop the Wraith’s railing, gazing out at the sea, still enraptured at the view. A variety of animals would still breach, either off in the distance or close enough for you to get a good look, all magnificent beasts you could stare at for hours. Birds of every variety coasted through the sky as well, some even landing up in the nest above for a time. Even without that, the water continued to make mesmerizing patterns in its spray and swell for you to watch, and think…

Nia, Threep, and Tyril aren’t to happy to be back in the open ocean so soon, they still didn’t have the best sea legs, and were trying to stay in the center of the deck as much as possible and keep their eyes on the horizon and their company light. From what little snatches of conversation you heard, they were discussing old elven gods, about the only topic they seemed to have in common, and you’d had your fill of that. 

Imtura strolls up to you, where you sat upon the prow on her ornament with a grin, one leg dangling lazily out just begging to get splashed. You’d given your friends a heart attack the other day by practically scaling down the side of the ship to get a good look at it in daylight and saw it was an intricate design of a wolf-orca you were now resting upon whenever you got the chance. 

You hope she isn’t back to ask why there hasn’t been a round two, you really hadn’t the will to manage it again after your first embarrassing display of the end results she’d probably noticed long before you had, and laughed herself stupid about it. “Hope you’re ready for an adventure, landrat, we’ll be in Zephyr Cove soon!”

You give a humorless chuckle for her, apparently recounting your entire life up to meeting her over breakfast the other day hadn’t been enough of an adventure to her ears. Between that and her giving you a run down of all the proper names on this ship like port being left before she’d give you a map again, you felt as close to her as the others already. “I still can’t believe Queen Ventra agreed to let us go…” you trail off with a cautious look at her. The you in that sentence was heavily implied.

“Well,” Imtura coughs and looks away. “I wouldn’t exactly say ‘let’ us…”

“Wait,” you stand up straight, hardly believing yet another twist already. “Did you leave without telling her? Are we about to get an army of angry orcs after us?”

“Let me get this straight,” Mal pops up quite literally out of nowhere to join in, “the big, scary pirate had to sneak out of her own city to avoid Mother Dearest?” In your head, you know he probably jumped down from some of the rigging he liked to scale, but that didn’t stop you berating yourself for never seeing anything else when Imtura has your focus.

“The big scary pirate was your only way off that floating city. So unless you fancy a long swim,” Imtura doesn’t take a single threatening step towards him, but it’s in every syllable as she stares him down. 

Far from being concerned about Mal’s grave he’s digging, you can’t help but notice your question went unanswered?!

“Yeah, yeah,” Mal’s response is as charming as ever as he twirls his wrist around. “Ready when you are, Princess.”

Imtura marches off back to the helm, while Mal slides up alongside you properly. “Copper for your thoughts?”

“What is it you enjoy about pissing off our ride?” You snort.

“I was charming her kit, you ought to know how instantaneous it works!” Mal says with an unrepentant grin. “Almost as fast as the two of you bonded!” You, mercifully, are not given the pitiful task of responding and pretending you had no clue what he was talking about. “Now don’t change the subject, you know well and good how easily I get along with new people!”

“Hum, yes, it’s all coming back to me,” you’re chuckle sounds forced, and you know it, so you sigh and admit, “we’re almost there. Almost at the island. At the next Shard…” you quickly look away from him, back to your pensive staring at the unknown horizon.

“I ought to warn you, Syrum, as one treasure hunter to another,” he’s leveled his voice to be about as serious as he ever gets. It’s strange to have him staring up at you, still standing on the foremast, so you sink back down and cross your legs, cautiously looking back. “Maps can be deceiving. Just because something ought to be somewhere doesn't mean it always is.”

“What are you saying?” You feel a painful weight settle upon your back at a brand new stress you hadn’t even considered. 

“Who knows what we’ll find on that island,” he reminds, tone gentle as he frowns off into the distance and begins tapping his fingers to his thumb again. That old, agitated pattern you’d only seen once as he contemplates a particularly vexing puzzle, with everything on the line. “Maybe the Shard. Maybe not. Something bad happened to that crew, I can feel it. I guess what I’m saying is, I just don’t want you to get your hopes up is all.”

OR BOLAS OR

“I’m sure we’ll find the Shard,” you say instantly, daring the universe to contradict you from tone alone. “I just, have this feeling. Everything that’s gone wrong recently has at least proven we’re on the right track.

You inhale a hopeful breath of the sea air that you still can’t get enough of. “Plus, with everything the Shadow Court put us through, we’re due to catch a break! We’ll find the Shard there, I’m sure of it!” Let’s see that Sharp corrupt your unwavering optimism now!

Mal pats you on the shoulder. “And I hope you’re right kit, but even if we don’t, I just want you to know what a great adventure this has been already. I’m in it for the long haul.”

You’re not sure when that changed for him exactly, he’d been so flippant in the beginning. You believe him without question now though as he stands solidly by your side. “Thanks, Mal. That means a lot to me. Especially because half the time you’re saying the exact opposite.”

“Yeah, well,” he scuffs his boot and looks away awkwardly. “I’ve been thinking. The fate of the world is resting on our shoulders, and all. We’re gonna be heroes. And hero's get paid.” 

You bust out laughing. “Wasn’t I the one to remind you of that so long ago!?”

“Eh, who can remember anymore,” Mal waves off.

You laugh and nudge him. “ That’s what I was waiting to hear! Let’s find the Shard first, talk about money second.”

Just then, you spot a dark smudge on the horizon. Over the next few minutes, you watch it take shape, revealing a bright, tropical island. 

OR BOLAS OR

“I’m used to disappointment,” you mutter into the raging wind. It sounds hollow, but you don’t care. You’ve never really cared about hiding anything from Mal, now that you think about it. “Don’t worry about me. I’m an orphan who lost his only brother in a magic Shard he didn’t even want to go find. At this point, I expect the worst. Look at how much craziness we had to go through just to hunt it down, and we’re still no closer!”

“Yeesh kit, I didn’t mean it like that,” Mal looks contrite now. He even reaches tentatively for your shoulder, and grasps it gently for a moment. “Even with all the things that’ve gone wrong so far, we’ve still been getting closer to the Shard. Not finding it here doesn’t mean we’ll fail.” He releases you, only to nudge you with a grin. “And besides, for all the trouble we’ve been through, I’m still glad I’m getting to share this adventure with you.”

You did kind of need to hear that. It was nice to know you weren’t ruining literally everybody's life, something that had crossed your mind these past days as you looked at Nia and remembered the old scholar from time to time. She still wept for him some nights, and kept him in her prayers. He might still be alive if he’d managed to come across someone with some actual skill that day. 

Mal truly means it though. He had no stakes in this, he could have left at any time. He was still here because he wanted to be. You smile sadly at him. “Thanks Mal.”

Just then, you spot a dark smudge on the horizon. Over the next few minutes, you watch it take shape, revealing a bright, tropical island. It’s full of thick trees, a dense vegetation like Riverbend back home… but somehow wilder. You don’t recognize the fauna high above your line of sight crowding the place into a forest from where the sand trickles quickly off. 

“Land ho!” Imtura calls from her wheel. “Pull the rigs tight and get ready to drop anchor! That’s our destination!”

“It looks beautiful! Sandy beaches, palm trees as far as the eye can see-” Nia’s beaming as she skips over to the pair of you to see it faster, so much so you feel a twinge of guilt you hadn’t taken her to see the mermaid with you before, she’d have been as in awe of its beauty as you had been.

“And a shipwreck,” Tyril sharply cuts in, having joined you all.

Imtura’s crew anchors the Wraith offshore from Zephyr Cove, and your party boards a rowboat and sets off for the island. 

Tyril and Imtura begin rowing in sync, whatever distaste he had for the salty sea didn’t stop him from being perfectly in tune with her. You and Nia sit close in the middle. You were debating whether to ask to trade with them, but this didn’t feel like a teachable moment, you’d just be a pest in the way most likely. They were very intent on their destination and making mean progress.

 Stranded ashore is indeed a massive orc ship, not quite the size of the Wraith, but no little traveling schooner either. Its sails are still hoisted in tatters, the designer wheels implemented along its sides are cracked and falling apart. It’s moored far up on the beach, only the half broken off and crumbling into the water at its butt end made it still a sea faring vessel. 

You feel a wash of horror at the sight, unable to imagine what atrocity could have been done to such a huge thing. You glance over and see Imtura has the same ill doubts as she tells, “that’s the Prosperity. The captain's one of my mother’s best. He wouldn't have just run ashore like that, unless…”

“Unless?” Threep prompts her when she trails off, firmly in Nia’s lap far away from the edges.

“It looks like the ship was attacked,” you conclude for her. The hull isn’t just shredded, it has entire chunks missing from it. The ship is tilted to one side, exposing all the chewed up wood. Its deck has been splintered to pieces, and its shredded sails flap in the slight breeze with nasty claw marks still impressed in some areas where it hadn’t finished managing to rip through. 

“No orc captain worth his salt would've let this happen to his ship.” There’s a burning anger in Imtura that had been there since Belana’s death rearing its head again. “Something went wrong. Very wrong.”

“I wonder if there are any survivors,” Nia asks quietly, cuddling Threep close. 

“No sign of the crew, I thought this island was uninhabited?” Mal agrees, standing at the front and shading his eyes to keep their view firmly in check. “What could have caused their ship so much damage?” 

“Reminds me of the beach I went to with you, minus the bloodsquid and the mermaid,” you mutter. The niceties of that place unhampered by all this. You’d definitely have to go back to that paradise island one day, it would probably be as close as you’d ever get to a nice time. 

“You two were gone for two hours!” Tyril frowns over.

“It was a hell of a beach,” Mal laughs without looking over at him.

You look between the pair in utter confusion what you were missing, and only belatedly realize he’s chastising Mal for apparently not sharing the details of all that as the passage goes over your head while the rowing continues without fault. As Threep burrows into Nia’s satchel at the continued splashing and docking and pulling the dinghy ashore, you all approach the ship. A shiver runs down your spine as its shadow falls over you. 

“For all we know, the Shard may still be abroad,” Tyril says, already stepping forward to investigate first. “Or some indication of where it was meant to be buried, at the very least.”

“We should check out the local wildlife,” you offer eagerly. Tyril gives you a look of surprise, and a nod to go ahead as he stops. “You can sometimes get a sense of danger by seeing how the local animals respond. Listen,” you tilt your head to the side and your friends go quiet as the wind whistles about. All you hear is the water lapping gently at the shore. “It’s dead silent,” you say grimly, in case they missed it. “No birds. And that’s not all,” you kneel down, closely examining the sand. “Those are crab-mice prints, and they look like they’ve all fled away from this ship into the jungle. Away from the ocean and the sand. They’ll probably die.”

“They’re so scared of the ship they ran to their deaths?” Nia asks in blank horror. “That’s, so sad, and awful!”

“We explore the ship with utmost caution,” Tyril only seems more determined than ever. At least you’ve done what you could to brace him. “All agreed?”

“Agreed,” you nod at once. 

Slowly and carefully, you all creep forward onto the ruined ship. Wooden planks creak beneath your feet, but otherwise all is still and quiet. 

Nia and Mal remain near the gangplank, keeping watch on all sides, while Tyril takes off as light as air across the entire place.

Imtura’s shifting her weight cautiously around, for once. You can’t imagine how ghost like it must feel to her to have to do such a thing in her own environment, but she’s got a determined air about her as she nods off to the side. “The captain’s quarters would’ve been back there. If he kept a ship log, they might have a record of what happened.” 

You navigate the wreckage to the ship’s stern next to her, where the remains of the captain's quarters litter the ground. All that’s left standing is a wooden desk, and Imtura starts pulling open the drawers and shuffling through them. “Just some maps and tallies of the supplies on board. No log.”

Your keen vision lands on a corner of one of the drawers that doesn’t fit together quite right. “Hang on? There’s more than meets the eye here.” You reach in and press down on the corner, and the bottom of the drawer lifts up, revealing a hidden compartment. “Yes! I knew we’d find something!” 

The euphoria surprises you, and then you're a little sad at yourself it did. You really need to get out of your own head.

What you found could be just the ticket. It’s another tablet nestled inside. It looks similar in stone to the one you have in your pack. You can’t help but wonder if the pirates stole this from somewhere, perhaps the original maker? But if so, how did a chunk of it wind up not to far from Riverbend…right in your lap…

You feel an uneasy chill creep down your spine and glance all about, feeling suddenly watched…but only Imtura is there, studying the new stone same as you. You pick up the tablet, looking it over.

It looks like it has more information on it too. In fact, as you study the side, you can clearly see where the head of the creature you’d once previously thought was broken off, was instead some crazy depiction of a wing now? It merges off in an intricate pattern going down, the scales of a tail also visible along its bottom crest… A bird perhaps you see now?

On the farthest side of it, you see something resembling a sun, as if the creature is flying towards it. It’s still broken though, far from complete. 

What had ever been the harm in reading? “Imtura, do you mind if I-”

“Go right ahead landrat,” Imtura gives you a nod, clearly done going through the desk and entire room by now and not coming up with anything. “I’ll help search the rest of the ship, hopefully you find something useful on there.”

She stomps out, and you move to pull the toppled over chair back upright so you can sit in its pristine, plush high back and set it on the desk, tracing your fingers over the back without further ado.

Like the last one, it’s obviously sectioned off into different subjects. Your eyes skim over each heading, and blush instantly when you get to the third.

Sucking in a deep breath, you decide on the spot best to read this one in order then. No jumping around, save yourself some sanity. This was purely, scholarly research…

Right.

Anyways.

Religion;

Humans;

Human religions are highly varied, with different faiths flourishing in different regions, or even within the same region!

Like before, you are instantly enthralled with this story being painted, and floored at the realization this bit of stone knows more of the world than you do. You’d never even heard of other religions besides the Light! Even among humans, the species you knew best, there was always more to learn!

As exciting as it was, it fueled a fire in you that had carried you right up to this moment in your life to always seek more.

In Whitetower, the Faith of the Light flourishes, led by the High Temple. This religion celebrates the older elven pantheon, particularly those affiliated with the concept of the Light. In the outlying regions, local faiths have taken hold. In Dunbar Forest, they worship the spirits of the trees. Along the Gold Coast, fishermen pray to the White Whale. Some residents of the southern settlements even worship a spirit known as The Great Beetle!

You burst out in surprised laughter as you vividly remember crazy lady Liddy, the eccentric woman who lived down by the river and was the best bug expert in town for whatever needs people didn’t have of her. Who knew it had been an actual religion other than just an obsessed elder lady? Certainly not you.

Chuckling, you spot the title for the next one, and a familiar sensation of longing and anxiety pulses through you.

Elves;

Elves maintain the worship of what is known as the Shared Pantheon: the six Old Gods from the ancient era, and six New Gods, great elves who gave their lives to win the Great War and were elevated to Godhood. 

Your brain feels like it's swimming through a vat of syrup to get through that. Some of it was familiar enough, the bits and pieces Kade had read and shared with you over the years, but never something so clearly defined. Leveling oneself up to the status of Godhood certainly seemed…obnoxious…hadn’t it been that very conceit in their own magic that led to the Great War itself? And yet they continued to worship such ways to this day? You continue reading eagerly, trying to make yourself be as unbiased as possible in it, but already storing away more questions to try and engage Tyril with for later.

Religion plays a significant role in elven life. Traditionally, elves begin and end each day with a mediation know as Erinza, fifteen minutes of silent communion with the Gods.

Another pang, this time right to your heart as your eyes cut away to the door, as if expecting Tyril to appear at that exact moment. He didn’t, of course. 

He’d never shared this tidbit with you though, and you weren’t entirely sure if you were relieved, or offended. After the days you’d spent together, it had never occurred to you he’d slipped off for even a few minutes to do this. He’d never invited you.

You had already made it clear though in your brief chats you had no faith inclination, perhaps he was just not trying to presume to put it upon you? Honestly, even now, you weren’t sure you’d have gone if he’d asked just to observe, or join in… but it would have been nice if he’d offered…

And yet, you were presuming he even did himself. This text was lumping every elf into that one statement, and yet you didn’t qualify. For all you knew, Tyril didn’t either. When he did speak of religion with you or Nia, there was always something so tight about the way he spoke. He rarely let his guard down at all, certainly not this topic more than any other.

Elves also believe that their ancestors live on in Elhalas, the land of the Gods, and that communion with these spirits is, under special circumstances, possible. To speak with an ancestor is the highest honor. 

That was it, onto the next one. You sigh and trace your fingers along the stones rough edges for a moment, but know you didn’t have all day to sit and ruminate on this one topic. No, you made a decision right then and there. You’d talk to Tyril given the chance about this later rather than dwelling on any more unknowable's. 

The next section didn’t surprise you, didn’t even leave you to hesitate. You had little fear Imtura would do more than laugh in surprise at you reading over something she’d already lightly mentioned a time or two now across the great waters.

Orcs;

Unlike the faiths of the humans and the elves, orcish religion is not centered on deities. Rather, orcs worship aspects of nature: the Skies, the Winds, the Ocean, and the Moon.

 As such, the religion is entirely decentralized. There is no central church, no priests, no organized structure. The duty of piety falls squarely on the individual. 

Orcs believe that giving back to nature is vital for good luck and prosperity. Offerings are frequently made to the elements, and transgressions against nature are harshly punished. 

That sounded, nice. Truly, it was the one you connected with so easily, you’d thought so even before you met Imtura. Yet being around her in person, even ever so briefly, you felt the love in her for nature itself far more than any Light Nia so firmly believed in. 

Last night on the deck, she’d even told you a story about her people when it came to the moon, full in the sky casting bright light on the deck. It was neither described male nor female, it was simply married to all the stars and blessed them with its light. She’d poured a bit of her drink over the side and offered you some as she explained.

You’d taken it eagerly and felt something warm in your chest as you took in the whole world through her eyes. Everything always felt so easy around her, when you weren’t over thinking it anyways.

Shaking your head, you turn back to the next section and a stir of unease peaks in you at just how blind you’d be stepping into this one.

Politics;

Humans;

The human kingdom of Morella is a traditional dynastic monarchy, with the seat of power residing with a single monarch in Whitetower. This role has been held by the Valleros family, passed down from parent to eldest child, for 1500 years.

Beneath the monarch are two dozen lords, each presiding over a region. While the monarch was once absolute, over time his power has dissolved, and lords now operate with a fair degree of autonomy.

The current monarch is Arlan Valleros. Known as the Gentle King, Arlan has presided with a light hand over a period of great peace and prosperity. He has two songs: Aerin and Baldur. 

You sigh in mild relief. Like the first time, that had been rather general, and precise in its knowledge all at once. You still felt that cold prickle on the back of your neck of who the heck wrote this thing. You were definitely going to show it to Tyril later, maybe even Threep to see if they had any ideas.

Then you snort with laughter at yourself for the absurd thought of showing it to that little nesper, no more experienced in the world than you. Truly, you were desperate.

Elves;

Elven political structure is notoriously complicated, a byzantine ever-shifting web of alliances, feuds, and schemes that often feels impenetrable from the outside.

Great. Just great. You’d gathered about as much from Tyril. You honestly doubted at this point even if you’d grown up in such a world you’d have much of an eye for it… but that was truly getting into a split your mind couldn’t even wrap around of who you’d be today versus who you truly were, no change the universe could deliver to you possible…

Elven society is divided into 50 different houses, which can loosely be understood as ‘families,’ though the members are not always biologically related. Each house holds a certain rank within the elven society, and that rank confers with its political weight.

The leaders of the houses meet in a conclave known as the Venesterium. Here, they vote on matters concerning elven high society, with the members of higher status having their votes count more.

The highest ranked house is known as House Ascendent, and holds the power to definitively break all ties. 

You frown at that final sentence, a strange twisting thought lingering. As far as you knew, the information in this thing had been up to date…but hadn’t Tyril said his own, Starfury, was the most powerful? ‘One of the most,’ he had said. ‘It’s, complicated,’ he had also added, a bit grudgingly.

With a weary shake of your head, there is nothing more you can gain from picking at broken strings.

Ears still pricked to the rest of the ship for the slightest hint someone found something to distract you, you keep your attention focused for now.

Orcs;

For most of recorded history, orcish society was divided into twelve competing, even warring, fleets. Each maintained their own distinct power structure and culture. 

Skullcrusher would love this thing, you smile to yourself as you shift around in the chair. Perhaps when you were done you could give it to her… if you could ever get back to Flotilla without the murder brand hanging over your head.

The Marlenos Clan determines their leader through a contest of strength. The Redfashti leave it to the elements, hurling dozens of leaves to the sea and seeing which returns first. The Kintari hold no leader, operating as an absolute democracy. 

Ten years ago, this all changed.

You bat your eyes in fascination of it being not that long ago! Imtura hadn’t said a word about any of this, yet she hadn’t even been a princess since she was born. While you’d been playing in the mud with Kade and dancing in the rain running errands for Riverbend, she’d been crowned royalty without even fully leaving childhood.

Ventra Tal Kaelen of the dominant Minurva fleet set out on a mission to unify all the Clans into a single society. Impressively, she passed each fleet’s leadership test, (though there are whispers of cheating.)

You choke, eyes nearly bugging out of your head at such a thing being dared to even whispered. What did Imtura think of such murmurings? Was it possible? Her absolute determination in wishing not to rule made all the more sense by the moment if this was how her mother had attained such power.

Now, she rules all the orcs from her throne at Flotilla. A council of twelve leaders, one from each fleet, advise her, though her power is, ultimately, absolute.

You run your hand over that bombshell with a pit in your stomach. Your crush on Imtura aside, you were all the more happy she’d escaped such a thing to be out doing what made her happy, especially if the environment she’d left behind could possibly be inhospitable too, with an unhappy ruler seating the throne.

You couldn’t help but think again of Tyril, the way he longed to be home, back in the thick of his labyrinth like life. He was doing this so he could go home, and she likely didn’t want the adventure to ever end.

Gods, how did your life get more complicated by the day? Now your own friends had such different out looks on the end of this journey…assuming you ever reached it…

But you were stalling, just a bit, as you swallowed and forced your eyes upon the next section.

Surely this hunk of rock wasn’t going to get too explicit…

Romantic Customs;

Humans;

While there is great variation among individuals, humans are generally monogamous, with the majority of families structured around a pair of two humans who either have or adopt children. 

Human courtship is a protracted affair, often spanning many years, as humans attempt to determine if their partner is the one they want to spend their life with. This involves frequent dates, as well as very often a trial cohabitation period. The average human is married by age 30, though this varies significantly. 

While among the nobility, marriages are arranged for political reasons, most humans choose their own partners. The notion of ‘true love’ holds great cultural importance and drives most partnerships. 

You sigh in guttural relief and relax back in your seat like you hadn’t managed this whole time. Oh thank the gods, that had been a perfect summarization. You even smile, just a bit, as you remember Riverbend’s own customs. How often the dating there could stop and start, how those devoted would create promise necklaces they would carry and never take off if they’d committed themselves to one person. Weddings hadn’t exactly been a common, once a year thing, but there had always been a thriving couple, new or old, weaving a new one for their beloved too and everyone was always happy to help and offer advice or sit down and join them.

Your smile faded away as you remembered Grenn. You wished you thought to have the stomach to remove her’s from her neck, give it back to Seria one day if you ever made it back home… but no. It was better this way. She’d been wearing that as long as you knew her, unlike many others, she didn’t even let her wife add new shells or beads. They were happy with the original ones they’d given to each other as teenagers. It was right, resting upon her body for everyone who ever passed again to know Grenn had meant something to someone.

A nervous swallow still punctuates your throat as your eyes flicker down- but no. You’d gone in order this long. Let’s see the elvish thing to do first… besides, you should hardly be thinking of weaving anything right now even if Imtura would know what it meant- Stop! Focus, read, you were good at that! You couldn’t fumble and mess that up!

Elves;

Elven culture separates the concepts of Kilvali 

You couldn’t help but pause and really pretend and contemplate how to pronounce that word as well as the elvish one following it. Stuff like this still made you feel small and idiotic… but there was nothing for it but to keep practicing and try to ignore the way your blue hands strained on the rock over something you couldn’t help. 

(emotional compatibility) and Dinvali (sexual attraction) into distinct entities. The two are considered unrelated, deriving from different parts of the self. 

You blink in utter bewilderment of this concept. It could very well perhaps be that because you’d never had, ah, sexual attraction, that was unrelated to emotional attraction, that this just, utterly escaped you. Having only had a real crush you’d never even acted on for two people in your life, it was hard to really understand…. And gods wasn’t this just going to be fun to try and babble your way through later if you had the gall to ask Tyril…

All marriages are political in nature, arranged by houses to advance their rank. Within a marriage, it is believed the partners must share great Kilvali, and operate effectively as one soul.

Dinvali is not necessary in a marriage. Most elves are not sexually monogamous, and maintain multiple sexual partners. While marriages ask for emotional loyalty, sexuality is seen as entirely distinct from that.

There are exceptions to this, pairs of individuals who share both Kilvali and Dinvali and remain exclusive. This is incredibly rare, and often controversial. 

How utterly fascinating. It was the complete opposite among humans. Cheating on one’s partner was a rare sight in Riverbend, but it had happened, and the tears and gossip that followed for all parties was never treated as something commonplace. 

Then you remembered the strange look on Tyril’s face you’d seen from time to time… most often when you managed to drag your eyes away from Imtura to check in on your friends and caught him staring back… and you swallow as you realized this, nor the humans, had exactly mentioned the custom of dating outside of one's own species…

Well then. That made this feel delightfully unhelpful all of a sudden.

But you shake your head and still eagerly read the last section… and try not to imagine how Imtura would laugh at you. Surely she’d been courted by other Orcs, she was beautiful and strong and revered among her own crew, surely someone-

Nope. Focusing!

Orcs;

Orcs deeply value the notion of individuality. Their culture does not have a concept of marriage, and many orcs remain single, or with multiple partners, for their entire lives. 

This is not to say they do not have romance; orcs romance and love and even sometimes form long-term partnerships. But these relationships are not formally defined, and tend to be quite fluid. 

Both male and female orcs can become pregnant.

Your mind utterly freezes on that concept. You had only been around one pregnancy when Seria had allowed it, and only in the doorway, but still, you knew the details of where the baby came out… and looked down at yourself in horror as you imagined a squalling baby coming out of you. What?!

Well there was a question you were likely never to get the answer to, as you would not be asking Imtura any time soon.

Each child is believed to belong solely to the parent who births them, and the majority of orcs are raised by a single parent. 

…okay, well, you could work with that. Honestly, the relief floating away was quite freeing. If you did make your interest known, Imtura may even be happy to reciprocate… assuming she didn’t laugh herself stupid about being with an elf? Again, nothing said on that… and you’d still currently rather start eating this stone than inquire if she did have any other partners. That would only end in you comparing yourself to other orcs for now until you could wrap your head around this multiple partner thing.

And even then, what did you even think you were doing considering telling Imtura about your stupid crush at all? It was pointless, it shouldn’t mean anything just as it never had in the past with Kade trapped in some Shadow Realm!

No, you decided firmly, turning your attention down to one last section. It was ridiculous. You needed to concern yourself with more important things than a useless crush.

Combat;

All three of the dominant races of Morella have a unique approach to combat. 

Human combat is centered around weapons; most human warriors choose a single weapon and specialize in it. Common specializations include melee, archery, and cavalry-based combat. 

Elven combat heavily relies on magic, with forms like Ball of Flame and Lance of Ash. When elves use weapons, they are magically-infused and used in connection with their magic. 

Orcish combat is focused on brute force and strength. Many orcs practice Kaytar, a martial art form that is unmatched in precision and devastation. 

Well that was wickedly cool to end on at least.

Sighing, and trying to tell yourself you were happy with having come to a decision on something, you tuck the tablet into your satchel and go to find the others. Threep’s all but hopping along the deck, a strange sign to see him not in Nia’s arms of late. “I’m sensing something over here, something tainted!”

He flutters over a hole in the floor, his little wings gaining more power every day and actually leaving him able to hover in place over it for a moment before needing to land again. You make your way to him, then peer down into the ship’s hull, where some of the decks’ wreckage has fallen through. His shouts had attracted everyone to all make their way over and see what this was.

You wait for the others to all join you, then together, the five of you carefully climb down into the ship’s belly, Threep fluttering ahead of you on determined flaps. He leads you to a tarp in the corner, then settles on your shoulder. “Under there,” his voice is a soft, gentle whisper. He’s strangely pleased with himself, but not bragging either.

“Please be the Shard,” you mutter to yourself, bending down carefully, to grasp the edge of the cloth. “Please, please be the Shard…”

Your friends take up defensive positions, and you take a deep breath, leaping forward and yanking the tarp aside. Beneath is an opened chest with nothing but fabric inside of it.

“No,” your heart sags inside of you, like it was being dragged far below where you’d never find it. Tears sting the edges of your vision.

The silence only reverberates in the room for a long, tense moment.

“Judging by the one we’ve got, another Shard would’ve fit nice and snug in there,” Mal’s bending down low over the box, giving it a critical eye. It’s probably supposed to be of some comfort, that at least you’re still on the right track.

“That’s not a good sign,” Tyril says flatly. “Whoever took it could be on the other side of the realm by now.” 

“Or the crew buried it, like they were supposed to,” you mutter, voice raw. It is a bleak hope. You might as well start digging a hole every five feet and hope to find it by the time you're three hundred.

But you can tell that nobody believes that, not even yourself.

“We haven’t seen a single sign of the crew,” Nia reminds, still looking all over anxiously. “What do you think happened to them?”

“Perhaps they were corrupted by the Shard,” you can’t help a guilty look at Imtura as you say it, your hand, your nose tingling unpleasantly as you still vividly recall your recent brush with death. “We know the Shadow Court’s more than capable of doing it even with no direct contact.”

“A very real possibility I’m afraid,” Threep agrees with a miserable sigh, padding across your shoulders back and forth. “But I won’t be able to sense the Shadow Court’s influence over anyone until we get closer to them.”

Imtura crouches and pushes aside a plank beside the chest, then picks up a battered leather journal. “HAH! Found the captain's log!”

It’s a battered brown journal, only protected from the elements in the majority of it, though the cover is peeling and the pages beneath look terrifyingly fragile. 

“Then let’s give it a read,” you say in a small modicum of relief something’s gone right around here.

“Syrum, why don’t you do us the honors?” There’s something warm in her smile as she offers you the book, and you almost want to blush. She’d left you to read one time and now it was a thing?!

…but you don’t deny it either as she hands you the journal. It is a strange comfort to still be able to do such a thing among all this madness. You’d hardly ever taken the time to sit down and do so, always preferring Kade read to you. Now, in a strange way, it was as if every new passage you read was a way to get back to him.

You flip through it until you reach the most recent date, dread settling deep in your gut as you decipher the messy, meandering scrawl. “We set out from Flotilla on the queen’s orders, eager to finish our mission and head for more prosperous waters. It should have been a short trip, but a foul wind blew out of the south. Storms carried us far off-course, and we spent a night lost in the currents.” You frown and shift your weight, resisting the urge to clutch at your bag at how familiar that sounded.

Surely you were just being paranoid. Storms probably happened all the time without warning on the ocean…. Right? You clear your throat, but there’s a frown marring you as you press on. “Strange dreams plague me through the night. I thought many times I’d awoken only to find the world g-gone wrong around me.”

Oh gods . A new taste of horror washes your mouth. Mercifully, nothing like that had yet happened to you!

“This sounds like the Shadow Court’s influence,” Tyril confirms. “I doubt it was a normal storm.”

“There’s more,” you offer, though your tongue is starting to feel rough, your voice cracking. “I saw dark things, horrible things, things only the whispers swirling around me could set right. When I awoke at last, it was those whispers that echoed in my ears. They spoke of- of power. Of promises they could make me-”

“Whispers?” Mal demands sharply. “This guy’s doomed.”

Your heart is trembling, but to your strange realization, it almost has the taste or relief mingled in. You’d feared for so long in the back of your mind about the Shard corrupting you, but you hadn’t felt a single thing similar to all this. There must still be hope for you then. At least now you had a sign of the warnings, could discuss it with the others if you started dreaming or hearing such a thing without fear.

“Next entry,” you sigh, wishing for a splash of water. You’d never read to a group before, and it was surprisingly awkward, the longer you stood there with all eyes just taking you in. “We have reached the Cove, but cannot go ashore just yet. The storm does not relent. They’ve bade me wait. Promised me a way to carve through the fog and bitter winds. A path to treasure, riches beyond imagination. And power, such power. They ask just one thing of me in return, bring them the Shard.” You sound so bleak and tired by the end.

Imtura slams her fist into the rotted hull, making the ship groan in pain with her shouts. “Oh hells!”

You hardly want to continue, but you do. Though you tuck this strained feeling away in the back of your mind next time you decide to ask yourself what harm ever came from reading. “I have tasted it, the Shard’s might. The incredible powers it can bestow upon me. It revealed to me the mutinous thoughts deep in my first mate’s tainted heart, his faltering faith in my sanity. The, the whispers promised they could help me purge that heart from him. And so, we did… carv- carved it right out of his chest-”

Nia’s gasp is loud enough to cover up your growing stutter of fear. “He killed his first mate? Light guide is!” She even clutches those jewels upon her neck.

OR BOLAS OR

“Now we know what to expect,” you say with grim confidence. “We need the Shard. This crazy captain's got it, whispering to him to kill people. We can come up with a plan now.”

“But we don’t know where he is,” Nia bemoans. “Does that mean our plan is to search the entire island for him?” 

“If that’s what it takes, we have to,” you nod firmly as if there hadn’t been a doubt in her voice same as yours. “At least now we know to be on our guard. It might not feel like much, but I’ll take even a small advantage right now.” 

“That’s all assuming the captain is still alive,” Mal reminds. “And still on this island. His journal never mentions him leaving the ship.”

OR BOLAS OR

“We’re so dead,” you say with utter confidence as you stare blankly ahead. “Crazy, murderous, Shard-possessed captain running around on this island with us! Fantastic! Our chances of survival are so high.” Somehow your voice went up in pitch, nearly into a scream without you noticing. You only do when you see your friends wince.

“Perhaps now is the time to flee?” Threep offers in a small voice, tail tickling your neck its thrashing about so much, and those wings won’t stop fluttering. “Our rowboat is still perfectly intact, might I remind you.”

“We can’t!” Nia gasps, looking at him in shock such a thing could pass the nespers lips like he was speaking for the first time all over again. “We’re so close to the Shard! We have to stay positive!”

“That’s assuming the captain is still alive,” Mal reminds. “And still on this island. His journal never mentions him leaving the ship.”

“Do you see him anywhere on the ship?” Tyril gestures with all the sarcasm he’s ever displayed at the giant, empty vessel, clearly abandoned. “The deserted ship, which we’re standing inside, which is currently on the island?”

“I do fail to see how he could have left the island,” Threep reluctantly agrees, still looking longingly towards that dreaded water. “Considering his ship is in ruins.”

“Okay, okay,” Mal raises his hands in surrender. “Consensus is, he’s on the island! It’s like you guys want to run into him or something.” He throws you a sharp look, and a smile. To your shock, you realize he’d deliberately baited Tyril into pointing out the obvious, the next step forward.

You feel a wash of shame and try to shake if off, you’ve been doing it a lot lately, but you’re determined to keep doing it. You just have to keep ringing out those doubts, and you could so long as your friends didn’t give up on this too. You weren’t in this alone.

“He’s here, and he’s dangerous,” Tyril scowls, his level and perfectly coiled voice somehow making him sound more menacing than reaching for his sword could, the threat lingering in the very air. “We have no idea what other powers the Shard may have bestowed upon him. No idea what he’s capable of.”

Imtura starts picking her way through the rubbles to the strip of sand visible at the end of the destroyed hull. She waves for you to follow her. “Whatever the case, this ship is a dead end. It’s time to start exploring.” There’s an infectious endurance in her voice. Not quite joy, not quite vengeance. She wants to get to the bottom of this, regardless of the outcome.

You all head after her onto the beach, eyeing the thick jungle. “We still don’t know what happened to the rest of the crew,” you reluctantly remind. “Do you think the captain killed all of them, or-”

“Look! Footprints!” Nia’s eyes are as sharp as yours sometimes, she’s impressively observant… or they hadn’t been there before… She’s pointing high-up on the beach, where the sand meets jungle. You rush over and see several sets of heavy footprints dug into the sand. 

“That’s enough for a crew,” Tyril nods in satisfaction, not even having to bend over to study them with just one cursory look. “They lead farther along the beach.”

“Wait! Look at this!”

Everyone spins around to find Mal scooping something out of the sand. He holds up a gold coin, the metal catching the light. A part of you is shocked he even bothered to point it out without just pocketing it as you still vividly, though now fondly, remember his rule number one about getting dibs on all the treasure. 

“Treasure?” You ask, a child-like thrill still coursing through you at such a thing passing your lips. “Is there more?”

Imtura kneels where Mal found it, a scowl in place. “There’s another set of tracks here, heading straight into the jungle. It looks like one of the crew ran off with the ship’s gold.”

“You sound, upset about that,” Nia says cautiously. Honestly, you were about to ask the same thing.

“It’s my mother’s gold!” Imtura agrees heatedly. “We might not see eye-to-eye, but I don't take kindly to deserts stealing from her.”

“Sounds like you’d be willing to help me track it down?” Mal grins, even giving her a friendly nudge as he gives the coin a flip through the air. 

“Is this really the best time for a treasure hunt?” Tyril asks of him with utter contempt.

“I think it is,” Imtura says just as pointedly, a cascade of sand falling from her knees as she straightens and continues looking off into the dark forest. “This crew member might be able to tell us what happened once the ship moored her.”

“My thoughts exactly!” Mal says hastily. You almost want to stifle a laugh at his flippant smile. “Find some answers, find some gold, what more could you ask for? Want to join us Syrum?”

The offer throws you off. Watching them, you hadn’t really registered up to this moment there was a chance of your group splitting in half.

With an instant shot of guilt, you glance between Tyril and Mal. The choice felt so, deliberate, like you were suddenly taking sides in their dual stance of what was worth more time, or more accurately, a waste of time…

OR BOLAS OR

“We can’t waste time,” you agree with Tyril.

“But- treasure!” Mal’s protests almost make you laugh at how disappointed he sounds. Like a kit who had just been told to stay behind in the village. 

“Gold isn’t important when we’re dealing with these kinds of stakes,” you firmly insist to both him and yourself. “We need the Shard, not to fill our purses.”

“Glad to see at least some of us see reason,” Tyril nods along with a faint smile. His agreement makes something light up inside you, and turn back to him with a proud smile of your own. He gestures to the tracks that head away from the beach. “Now then. About these footprints.”

OR BOLAS OR

“I-” but you stop, and bolster yourself. “Tyril, we should split up. It’s a big island. I’ll go with them.”

He doesn’t look disappointed, not exactly, but there is a small shake to his head that never the less hurts your pride. “Very well. Nia and I will stay behind and scout the area for anything we may have missed. We’ll expect you back within the hour.”

You almost want to back out again, the last time you’d wandered off in search of treasure hadn’t ended well… but then, the last time you’d gone off with Mal had been a peaceable experience, mostly. Now you were going off with him and a very confident orc woman. 

It was fine. It was going to be fine. You were tracking down an important lead.

You’d all be fine. Probably.

“And if we don’t come back, just assume we’re dead,” Imtura laughs and gives an according nod. 

“Uh, we’re not going to die,” you try and retort, but you’re almost laughing too. You can’t help it, she just makes you smile when you look at her… which was really putting a damper on that whole conviction you’d just tried to convince yourself about not wanting anything more from her than friendship right now.

“That’s the spirit kit!” Mal’s clapped your shoulder and is taking off. “Now you’re sounding like a true adventurer!” You’re grinning so much as you jog after them, you don’t even think to look back over your shoulder at Tyril until it’s too late and the pair are out of sight.

The moment you step underneath the thick leaves, the breathtaking beauty of this strange paradise captivates you. There’s vines hanging from the trees in thick webby moss, the leaves are flat and wide, dripping water. There is a path, a small dirt one, and it's lined with blooming flowers that are actually glowing in the middle of the day, pinks and purples, and they don’t even look like the same species. Some are low to the ground with their petals wide open, some are tall stalks with their heavy gynoecium under drooping long blossoms.

Imtura’s still stalking ahead, practically leaving you and Mal in the dust in her determination. You chew on your lip for a moment, but can’t help but ask her something that’s been in the back of your mind. "Were you and Belana close?" You ask cautiously. 

"That, was her first voyage out," Imtura sighs, slowing a bit, glancing back at you for a moment. It only makes her back straighten all the more though. "I didn't know her well, but she'd begged to come along, even though she was a year younger than those we usually allow out to sea. I couldn't tell her no. I didn't, want to be like my mother."

She stops and turns back and gives you a menacing look. "The rest of my crew have been with me for years though. That Shadow Court isn't getting to them!"

"I, wasn't trying to insinuate that," you hurriedly assure, coming to a fumbling stop yourself.

She blinks, and her shoulders slump. "I know Syrum, I'm sorry."

"You're rattled," you agree. "It's, not something I'm used to either."

That's almost a lie though... so much carnage and blood shed...you'd gone from never experiencing it before in your life, to it now being a casual, nearly daily horror... you were actually shocked at yourself as you stood before her at how, numb you felt in comparison to her raging grief and temper.

You clutch your bag in horror and feel a painful sob in the back of your throat. Gods, what was happening to you? Was Kade even going to recognize you if- when you rescued him?

Imtura gives you a brief smile, and then reaches out and gives your chin a gentle nudge up, causing your heart to skip a beat even as she releases you at once. “I know you’re worried about your brother, but don’t hold onto something you can’t control. I’ve had to learn that the hard way. Balance, remember?”

“Right,” you murmur, your skin feeling as if a small fire were still trapped just under your skin where she’d brushed you. 

She gives you one last confident smile and goes back off.

“Oh, kit, you have it so bad,” Mal’s laugh behind you makes you nearly startle and squeal, but mercifully you’re so used to it by now you do manage to wrangle it back in. You trudge after Imtura, but force yourself to look over at him keeping pace with you. "Am I that obvious?" You demand, willing yourself not to jump into the nearest hole in the ground to avoid this.

"You both are," Mal rolls his eyes so heartily it should be a crime.

"B-both?" You stammer, hardly daring to believe him as your eyes dart to Imtura's still retreating form. It's a very nice form to watch retreat. Something about the way she walks keeps drawing your eyes-

Mal heaves a weary sigh. You've definitely been as pathetic as you'd been fearing. "Listen kit, stop trying so hard to impress her. She likes you when you're being naturally agile, and, whatever else you do around here." You almost have no choice to laugh at the flippant way he says that as he continues just as casually. "I've been with a few orcs myself, if you want some tips-" Mal puts a gentle hand on your shoulder. For all the world, he seems like he's trying to genuinely offer you some advice.

It only makes the mortification in you rise higher. "No! I mean, I- no!" You manage to strangle the shout just shy of being sure she shouldn’t hear you. Of course that's what you should say. Because...oh sunken hells, you have no idea what you're doing and maybe you should say yes. You have no clue what you're doing!? You don’t want to, want to be doing anything!

"Would you rather I go fetch Tyril?" Mal's tone is still politely inquisitive as he squeezes your shoulder and lets you go.

Horror slams into you like a mountain. "No! I will actually build a pyre and throw myself into it Mal, I swear on all the gods!"

"Okay, okay," he raises his hands in surrender, but there's a troubled look in his eyes now as he agilely leaps over a tree root without breaking stride. "Hey, don't let Blue get to you, hear me? Screw him and his arse up his own nose at what you do or who you like."

You bite down on your lip hard enough it hurts, probably turning it white with discoloration. He’s right, you know he’s right, it’s why you came along. You didn’t need his validation… but after only a moment you hesitantly whisper, "but, I mean, is it, frowned upon?"

Mal actually contemplates his answer. Perhaps for the first time in his life. He's like a brand new person right now, one your embarrassment is quickly ebbing away from. "I couldn't tell you it's, traditional, let alone normal," he finally shrugs. "I've certainly never seen it, of the few elves I've ever seen. Species rarely mate across as far as I know, but I don't think you do want to know what I've seen in my share of brothels where nothing is off the table. Sometimes literally." 

You are blushing, but still listening with a painful intensity. "As I said, she's obviously interested, and never bothered to hide it, so perhaps for Orc's nothing's strange. As for Tyril, I will break off his nose and shove it up his ass for him if he says a word about it." The flare of anger in his voice as he glowers back towards the beach is so, supportive. That's not just a joke.

 It's the best answer you could have given yourself too, but it feels nice hearing someone else say it. You feel a strange kinship with Mal, the likes of which you never would have thought possible only days ago.

It's deeper than just friendship. It's the kind of conversation you wish you could have with Kade.

"Listen, Syrum," he gives your chest a friendly, gentle smack, right over your heart. "You've got a fire in you, I saw that our first meeting. You're going to save the world and get your brother back.  It's a long road to that happening though. Don't talk yourself out of any adventure on the way there. Kade's going to want to hear every detail of this story someday. Don't leave him wondering why you might have missed out on an adventure or two." His eyes flicker between you and Imtura's shadow rapidly getting farther away in the distance. His meaning is obvious.

There's a release in you, again, for someone else acknowledging it. You hadn’t needed anyone’s permission… but damn it all if he wasn’t wrong either and you were making yourself miserable so much lately, it clearly wasn’t helping. "Thank you, Mal," you say fervently.

He gives you a wink and then slumps down into a more languid stroll, much like a cat-dog about to stretch out and sunbathe, right back to that jovial jerk you've grown far to used to. "Any time kit! Now, if you did want some pointers, Vantissa loved it when I grabbed her horns and-"

You stomp off ahead, cursing him to the deepest pits of hell, grinning at his laughter following you.

“What’s so funny back there?” She calls, pausing to glance back.

“We’re going to leave Mal here to rot,” you call pleasantly. “That, or use him as bait.”

To your surprise, she doesn’t laugh along. Instead, Imtura suddenly slows immensely down to a crawl, glancing around. “Do you hear that?” She asks cautiously.

“Heart what?” You ask, shocked if she can hear something you can’t. But then, she had a knack for hearing the faintest of whisper on her ship even among the roaring rapids of the sea and had clearly learned to pick up on things you naturally tuned out.

Imtura’s voice drops into a low whisper, a frown on her face. “There’s nothing, no birds, no movement, just like on the beach. We should hear them by now, but, nothing.”

“So, why are we whispering?” You’re still matching her tone cautiously, a faint prickling on the back of your neck backing it up.

“Experience. Nothing is rarely nothing,” Mal murmurs, hand on the hilt of his knife.

“Smart man,” Imtura chuckles, the deep noise right from the back of her throat might be a thrill to you, but doesn’t carry on the non existent wind.

Moving cautiously now, you slip further into the jungle. 

Suddenly, your senses alert you to something shifting in the woods. You stop and gesture for your friends to do the same. “Something’s following us,” you’re all but mouthing the words. “Moving with our steps. Watching.”

“No, hunting,” Imtura agrees in a low, quiet growl, a predator excited to pounce as she slips an axe free of her belt.

You follow her lead without further hesitation, slipping out an arrow and holding it in place against your bow, then swallow painfully. You want to thrush it out, startle it into revealing itself, whatever it is… but your anxiety gets the better of you as you glance from her, to Mal, and feel the weight of your satchel painfully. Better not to risk it. “Let’s hurry and find this treasure. I want to get back to the others before we deal with a full ambush and traps.”

“Agreed, the quicker the better,” Imtura nods, eyes still roving over every twitching bush. 

“I’ll watch the flank,” Mal says, and you're practically jealous at the way he manages to say it so clearly yet so softly, his years of being a thief and a sneak clearly to his benefit right now. 

You keep moving, trying to rely naturally on your years of hunting, but are sadly reminded soon enough this isn’t your old haunt as something snaps loudly beneath your feet. You jump away from the body of an orc hidden by the underbrush, grasping a wooden chest in its skeletal arms. 

“Agh!” The involuntary scream rips out of you, your arrows crashes into the dirt, and your life passes before your eyes at the sense of familiarity. All that’s missing is the blood and gore on the steps. “Orc body! I stepped in it!”

“Well, that answers whose trail we were following,” Mal says pleasantly enough, tipping his head to the side curiously as he inspects the ribcage clinging to your boot as you lift your leg in disgust. He approaches his goal, blade drawn. Carefully, he lifts the lid of the treasure chest with the tip, ignoring the arm left behind, a few phalanges clinging around it. “Interesting,” he draws the word out painfully, as if the air is holding its breath around him. “He was killed, but the gold’s still here. Now that I don’t trust.”

Imtura approaches and offers you an arm you gladly accept, finally sheathing your bow back away so you can lean on her weight as you wrench your foot free with a pang of guilt. You pick a splinter out of your shoe as she examines the body. To your morbid interest, you step up and do the same. The most obvious thing that stuck out to you was the horns, massive huge things that had fallen right off the skull. The space where they used to rest makes his remains seem, small.

The horns are dense, but hollow. With a quick look at Imtura, who is picking up a part of the shoulder you hadn’t managed to take with you, you run your fingers curiously along its surface. It’s not smooth, but it feels slick beneath your grip until it gets to the next wavy ridge.

“He was killed by bites, not by blade.” She notes with blackened interest. Looking more closely over her shoulder, you see what she means. The bones are as dense as half the wood around you in this forest, but there are double puncture marks perfectly spaced apart, impressed in.

“Bites?” Mal asks in surprise, turning back to see for himself. “But he’s not eaten.” He gives the once fully intact skeleton an obvious kick as if you hadn’t made that painfully obvious. “What kind of beast hunts, but doesn’t feed?” There’s genuine curiosity in his voice. You might have felt the same in wanting that answer… if you didn’t have the sudden horrid sensation that you weren’t alone. 

Branches crack behind you, and you whirl around as Imtura gives her axe a wicked spin in her grasp. “Probably something like that!”

“GRRAAAAR!”

It is not a beast you could have ever put a name to. As if nature itself had risen up from the ground to stare you down. Quadruped, something canine in its structural body and teeth, but it's barrel chested and thick, even for a skeleton-moss-creature clearly being held together by vines and hatred. Its eyes glow a menacing red, smoking, leaving trails of vaporish air like steam. Thick protrusions, like quills but literal branches come out all along its back cracking straight up from its spine.

"What, in the six hells, is that thing?" You ask in numb disbelief of what you were looking at.

"Based on how it's a pile of angry bones, probably necromancy!" Mal says grimly. 

"Rrragh!" The beast sounds as if it's growling in agreement, but likely doesn't appreciate the correct assumption enough to spare any of you. The monster charges you, jaws open wide, giving you a split second to react.

With your heart frozen in terror, you realize you hadn’t redrawn your arrow. There is no time to do anything other than twist your heel and fling mud in a twirl you’d seen Mal do more than once, even if you didn’t have the blade to finish the throw. 

It splatters into the beast's eyes, skidding to a stop and shaking its head blindly with a howl of outrage. 

“And take this!” Imtura is quick to leap in, slamming her foot forward, catching the beast under the jaw and sending it flying back. It crashes into a tree with a whimpering, ‘arp,’ that almost makes you feel bad for it as the light dims out of its eyes, it looks smaller even.

“Don’t celebrate just yet, folks. This puppy still wants to play,” Mal warns before you can even take a breath, his weight as balanced as his knife as he tries to circle around it. 

The monster's shaking itself off, then faces you once again, a low snarl rumbling in its throat, a growl of challenge rearing it right back up. It lunges at you again, throwing its body through the air with reckless abandon. It knocks you to the ground as it gnashes its teeth. 

“Argh! Get, off!” Your hands digging into the soft, squishing wet moss around its neck is the only reason you’re still alive as its jaws snap viciously an inch from your face, its breath is putrid and smells of rotten earth and spoiled harvest. 

“Die you mangy mongrel!” Imtura lobs her axes at the monster, but they only lodge themselves in the branches growing out of its back. It’s heavy weight still digging into your chest, but it does tip its head towards her with a snarl of outrage. 

It jumps off you to swipe at her, who barely jumps back to avoid it. Mal tries to stab it, but his blade is ripped from his hands as it gets caught in the monster's ribcage. 

“We need to crush its bones somehow,” Mal orders. “Find something heavy, and hurry!” 

You spring back to your feet and look around, spotting a boulder that should do the trick. Covered in moss, slowly sinking into the earth, but not looking set to sturdy in the ground yet, it has to weigh as much as you do. It should work. Gripping your fingers tight under it, you tense in your legs and haul with all your strength, turn, use the momentum, and run up behind the creature and smash the boulder down on its head as it's still snapping and swiping at the pair of them. It explodes into shards of more bone.

With a final “grr, arh-” from its neck, its body collapses, writhing and twitching on the ground.

“Die you damned thing!” Imtura picks up the beast by its ribcage and hurls it into the nearest tree. It shatters into a thousand tiny fragments, leaving behind nothing but dust. 

The three of you collapse to the ground, panting. 

“Gods, was that some sort of island guardian or something?” You pant, pressing your hand tight to your burning rib cage. Whether it was pain from your breath rasping out too fast or you’d pulled a muscle with that stunt, you didn’t want to know right at the moment. 

“Doubt it,” Mal swipes sweat from his lip, dirt and moss tangled into his beard twitching like a live thing, and then brushes his hair back from his face with a casual flick, eyes still wearily watching the place it had disintegrated mistrustfully. “Most undead are barely sentient enough to guard a single room. I saw something like it in a ruin once. It attacked whatever made the loudest noise. We threw a pebble into a spiked pit trap we’d triggered earlier and the dumb beast ran right in.” He’s smiling, boasting by the end, and you’re laughing and clutching yourself tighter right there with him. “Good times!”

He turns back to look at you, and frowns. “You’re bleeding.”

You look down in shock and see he’s right. It’s not much, the thick leather of the vest has puncture marks in it from those claws where your ribs hurt, but lower on your stomach, there is a fresh patch of blood where the material had been ripped from those hind legs just as lethal as the front ones.

Peeling it carefully away, you shrug. “It’s not deep. Beast scratched me up when he landed on me. Didn’t even feel it.” You pull out that jar of healing salve Mal had once given you and delicately dip your fingers inside the murky liquid, surprised at how cool it feels so long later. You begin gently applying it, suppressing the hiss of pain easily, but comforted you were right and it hadn’t managed to get you to bad as you feel the effects begin at once.

“If there’s more of those beasts out there, we’ve gotta get back and warn the others,” Imtura huffs, stomping to her feet and picking up her fallen axes in one swift motion. 

Mal gives you one last look over, and then nods, turning away. “I agree, just gotta, hrrrrgh,” he struggles to lift the heavy chest of gold, “bring this, back! This payday was worth the effort!”

“Like hell!” Imtura snaps. “We return the offering to the sea, in honor of the crew who couldn’t finish their journey!”

“You’re joking,” Mal demands drolly, actually letting the handles go in shock.

“Do I look like I’m joking?” She sheathes her axes, which somehow just makes her seem more serious as she glowers at him. “On journeys of importance, crews pay a tithe to the seas. That gold was meant to be an offering for safe travels.”

Mal looks as if he can’t believe his ears. “They were going to just toss an entire chest of gold into the ocean? I could never do that!” 

“That’s the point,” she crosses her arms, which honestly seems like a restraint rather than the fact she could have just snatched it away from him. “You’re supposed to give up something you value. It’s not an offering if you don’t care.”

You’d only used up half the jar, and quickly seal the lid back on it, tucking it away and finally hauling yourself back to your feet and clearing your throat, interrupting their bickering. A long memory ago, you remember something of what Nia had once said in a dark passageway filled with gold you’d thought faintly ridiculous and unbelievable.

Hearing it now, you still admit it makes little sense… until after what you’d just walked away from. Maybe a little sacrifice back to the universe couldn't hurt. “We do what Imtura says Mal. It was her mother’s gold to begin with. These sailors paid the ultimate price because of the Shard’s evil. It's the least we can do to honor their memory.”

“But if you toss it into the ocean, some grobtars are just going to use it for decoration! It’s a waste!” Mal looks truly baffled at you, and you sigh, knowing you’d just lost a precious step backwards with him.

Imtura hefts the chest into her arms and sets a course back to the beach with a satisfied grunt though, flashing you a smile that makes it feel worth it. “If that’s what the sea wills, then that’s what will be.”

“Agreed,” you shrug with a sad smile at him.

Still grumbling about working alone and rolling his eyes so much he might go blind, you all approach the shore and Imtura wades into the water, opening the chest and letting the gold be carried away and sink down into the current in a flashing rain of light.

You swear you can feel a slight chill run through you, like a gentle breeze. And then something shiny washes up on the shore, and it’s certainly not the gold you’d just flung away. “What the-” you kneel down and pick it up as it nudges your foot. 

It’s some sort of scale, or a petrified leaf, or a gem? It’s a darker shade of jade than even Imtura’s skin, nearly black like veins across it, and it feels surprisingly heavy in your hand though it’s barely the size of your palm.  

“Well, would you look at that,” Imtura wades back out of the water to cup her hand beneath yours and tips it curiously in the light. “That’s a greendrake serpent's scale! The ocean is blessing us already!”

 Your hand in hers doesn’t feel small… not that you’d imagined this or anything… but her wide grip is sturdy, and yet gentle as your fingers rest against her thumb, her palm rough and blazing hot. The two colors blend together in a shocking pattern that doesn't look as if they clash at all, but had always been in harmony. What was nature if not the blue and greens of the earth and sky-

“Blessing us with, a scale?” Mal asks in pure disbelief. “The kind rotting off of every other fish? Amazing. Fantastic. Truly, we are kings of riches.”

“Not just any scale,” she gives him a level look, and your hand a squeeze, the water dribbling between you two with no escape as she turns back, looking into your eyes as she explains. “These have amazing healing properties. Why don’t you hold onto it landrat? You never know when you’ll need another wound sealed.” Her grin is light as it flickers down to your shredded shirt, she gives your hand another squeeze, and then finally drops it.

“Especially when you travel the way we do,” you chuckle in agreement, feeling flush and warm like you’re standing directly next to an open furnace radiating from your hand. You inspect it a moment more. “How does it work exactly? Do you eat it?”

“No,” she chuckles gently, “you just press it to the wound. It, spreads, like a thick coating, and then, it maps itself into your skin. Then it should seal the wound closed for good. It’s quite powerful, I’ve been told its healed everything from harpoon spearing's to broken backs.”

“Wow,” you gasp, thumbing your hand gently over the little thing, before reaching in and carefully sliding it into one of the many available pockets you have on the inside of your satchel, one with a button to keep the Shard secured inside its pouch. You slide the greendrake scale safely next to it, a funny feeling in your stomach as you do. Both such small, precious objects that do something so incredibly different… darkness and light, residing side by side…

“Thank you Imtura,” you say, not looking away from her brilliant eyes that scale had nothing on. She’s so close your forehead is almost brushing against the base of her horns. “And thanks… sea? Is that right?” You quirk a hopeful brow.

“Good enough,” she grins. You can’t help but watch as she twitches, as if to reach out to you again, but then she’s the one to pull away with a reluctant smile and strolls off, easily knowing which direction Nia and Tyril are apparently. You feel a little turned around…

You swallow and look back over at Mal, waiting for his laughter, or one last huff to the ocean. Instead he’s smiling faintly now, and his eyes flicker to your satchel, to the blood stained shirt, and shrugs, going after her, apparently forgiven.

You return to the shipwreck soon enough, finding Tyril and Nia waiting a tad impatiently. 

“No luck on your little adventure?” Tyril’s eyes are on Mal’s empty hands, a mocking smile in place.

“We found the gold,” Imtura says with a shrug, “and we did what the crew should have done. It’s been given to the sea.” 

Tyril bats his eyes and looks between the three of you in surprise.

“We found something else more important. A dead orc. And the necromantic creature that killed it.” You sigh. Tyril’s already taken in the rumpled clothing of all three of you, and his eyes have narrowed in on the cuts and scrapes you're all sporting with shrewd, narrowed eyes.

“Necromancy?” Nia gasps. “Oh Syrum!” She rushes forward, and you glance down, wondering if it looks worse than it was as she tries to flutter her hands inside.

“It didn’t bleed on you, did it?” Tyril snaps, also coming much closer, much quicker.

“No, no, bone creature, disintegrated, scratched us all up a bit,” you wave off, filling them in on the monster in detail. Threep crawls out of Nia’s satchel yawning, and wings drooping. 

“It goes without saying that necromancy is Shadow magic. Truly dark stuff.” He sighs, stretching with a groan of relief.

“So, there’s someone on this island who can do necromancy?” Nia moans, pressing a trembling hand to her forehead and closing her eyes. “I wonder if it’s the captain!”

“This is valuable information,” Tyril agrees, looking from Mal, to you. Not quite an apology, but no longer a hint of anything else that isn’t relief. “Good work you three. Let’s keep our eyes out for any other sins of necromantic magic.”

He gestures at the tracks that head away down the beach. “Now then, about those, we scouted a bit ahead, but not too far once they rounded out of sight. We didn’t want to be far off when you came back.” His utter confidence you would be coming back is comforting. 

You look over to the dinghy and saw they’d instead been spending their time scavenging supplies from the ship, crates of food and some still working equipment plus a change of clothes or two packed away.

Going over, you crouch down and examine the footprints for a few moments, slowly following them along the beach, careful to match Tyril’s light tread instead of stepping in the one you’re following. “There are two different patterns here. Almost all the footprints were running away from the boat, fast. But this set, it doesn’t make sense. They meander all over the place. Like the person who made them was drunk.”

“Relatable,” Mal snorts.

You ignore him easily, glancing over at Tyril, who gives you a look of surprise, and a faint smile. You’re quick to do so back. It feels good to remind yourself you’d been the one hunting and tracking since you could walk while he’d been elitist socializing. You didn’t have to prove anything to him. 

“Or perhaps losing their mind to the whispering madness of an ancient evil?” Threep pleasantly reminds, twining himself amongst all of your feet, sniffing, rubbing his whiskers particularly hard against you. “Just a thought.”

“Less relatable,” Mal admits, bending down to give his rump a scratch. Threep’s tail flickers with pleasure. 

“Come on, let’s see where they went,” you sigh wearily, never a dull moment as you grin at your friends who all stay right on your heels. You track the meandering footprints as they break off from the rest and head into the dense greenery. The trail falters in places, but you're able to find it again. 

You keep going, so focused you trip over something hidden beneath a tangle of roots. “Whoa! What the,” you look down at your feet and find another pile of bones. “Urgh, like I needed this twice in one day,” you gag, scraping your heel firmly to be released, again. This one mercifully cracks apart the rest of the way and releases you.

“There’s no doubt about it. They were part of the crew,” Imtura shakes her head, lingering anger in her face as she eyes the thick bones and the smattering of colors you do now realize must have been clothes on the other corpse, a shade of dark yellow that almost blended in with the fauna as it decomposes into the earth.

Pushing back the roots reveals three more skeletons heaped on top of each other. 

“Oh,” Nia looks so miserable, pressing her hand to her cheek at the sight of them. You have an instinct to shield her eyes you don't act on. She has a right to see this too or look away if she wishes. “What, happened to them?”

You bend down to examine the skeletons in further morbid fascination. Kneeling before them carefully, you push aside their tattered clothes to better see the wounds. “These look like stab wounds here. See how there are score marks on the ribs? The crew might have turned on each other, or-”

“Or the captain wasn’t satisfied with just killing his first mate, and turned on the rest of them as well,” Imtura agreed in blackened fury. 

“May the Light guide their souls to a peaceful rest, whoever they were,” Nia sighs, her hands fluttering helplessly at her side with longing. 

“The trail keeps going. Right up to that rock wall,” Mal hasn’t given much of a second look to them, keeping his eyes peeled around the rest of this place while you’d been preoccupied. He points toward a gridlock of rocks up ahead, too high to climb. Tyril goes out ahead to examine them. 

“Not a wall,” he’s running his hand confidently over the rough surface with a look of concentration. “There’s a gap in the stones. Narrow, but just wide enough for someone to slip through. I think this is a cave entrance.” With a little push of his hand, you see what he means. It’s horrifyingly narrow and honestly could be missed if you weren’t looking right where he meant for you to.

“Do you think it’s safe for us to go inside?” Threep sighs, clearly already knowing the answer as he flutters back into Nia’s arms. You can hardly blame the little guy, you weren’t to thrilled at the idea of being back underground either. 

What you want doesn't matter though.

“Probably not, but we have to find that Shard,” you say, straightening your shoulders and clutching your bag.

One by one, you squeeze into the cave entrance. Imtura has to actually go in sideways, squeezing for all her worth and cussing a new phrase to manage it. There’s an unpleasant scraping noise of her horns against the rough wall that probably didn’t feel too good.

 It widens immediately after only a few feet, but the darkness is thick and damp around you. You trail a hand along the cool wall, no longer able to see the path or the rest of your party. Somewhere behind you, you hear Imtura trip and curse. 

You really hope you’re not about to run into another owlbear or any manner of animals that would have no problems with this new to you environment.

“Anyone else thinking maybe this was a bad idea after all?” She huffs. 

“We can’t turn back, not until we’ve searched this, somehow,” you sigh.

“Luckily, I came prepared,” Mal’s cheer in the gloom makes you smile even before there’s a familiar striking sound, and a lit torch from his pack is now dancing merrily for you all. “See, much better!” He stakes it confidently into an available bit of crumbling rock that forms an easy bracket as his eyes flicker cautiously around.

The dampness had been coming from pools of water in unevenly collected puddles along the floor just waiting to be splashed in and ruin your day with one wet sock. Little pockets of miniature waterfalls were still making a steady stream down sporadically from the walls every few feet. Stalagmites and stalactites hang every which way, or perhaps the thin spires of rock were something else you couldn’t guess at. You’d never been spelunking before to do more than guess what those rock formations were. 

There’s no sign of any other life… probably because the flames reveal a wide empty chamber all around you, and the gruesome toothy grin of a reanimated skeleton. This one’s upright, glowing faintly purple, and staring right at you as he shuffles from the shadows.

You’re unsure if the scream that rips out of you and echoes off the wall is just your own. It’s as large as any orc should be, along with the thick silver armor, breastplate, and mangled tattered clothing, even holding a sword at the ready. He’s even still got some mangy black hair clinging to his skull, thinning by the moment as if to wither away before your eyes. His horns seem to be holding onto his skull by a few fragmented strings left. The animated bones were being held together by some faint indigo energy glowing right from its center and creating a ghastly backlight in its skull, pouring out of its mouth and eyes like some dim, twisted version of a soul within housing this thing.

He’s standing poised for only a moment, long enough to make an, “HRRRRKHH!” of fury. Then lunges right into the middle of you all, brandishing his rusted sword at you. Its armor drags against its bones, slowing it more than anything, but also shielding most of its frail frame.

“Get back!” You call to anyone at your elbow, moving with experience this time, you nock an arrow, take aim, and fire. It whistles through the air, punching straight through the skeleton’s fragile femur bone. 

It makes another, “hrrrkh,” from somewhere in its miserably deteriorated throat, sounding more surprised than anything, but doesn’t stop its advance. You grimly fire another, shattering its other leg and sending its torso crashing to the ground. 

“Great idea smashing its bones apart,” Imtura chuckles from your non-dominant side right next to you.

“Learned from watching the best,” you remind with a bleak smile.

Your friends advance, pummeling at the skeleton, knocking its bones loose bit by bit as it tries to keep moving, becoming more pathetic by the moment as Mal and Imtura each displace an arm, but the skull is still swiveling, groaning, while Nia stays cautiously behind you, pressing a hand to her stomach. 

“Allow me to finish this,” Tyril says, fury kindling his words. With a blast of magic, he’s vaporized the last of the bones into dust. A dark shadow slithers away, deeper into the cave.

“Necromancy.” Threep says again with a deep hiss, his eyes slits of fury, nails digging into Nia’s arm. “More corruption from the Shadow Court. There are likely more-”

“Eeeaah! Help!” 

Nia’s terrified shriek has you whirling around to find another dragging her away by her hair. Threep is an entire ball of fury, but his swiping claws are doing nothing but gouging up bone. The horrid creature is making a wretched, “kkffff!” as if a cackle of triumph while backing away.

“Nia!” Terrified of missing by an inch, you throw your bow aside and rush toward her, kicking the skeleton's exposed kneecap, knocking it back. It releases Nia and lurches toward you instead, but Nia jumps in front of it.

She’s dropped Threep, who lands on his feet with a confused and deep throated snarl as he lashes about the beasts boots, still swiping and clawing for all his worth.

“No you don’t!” She spins around and swipes a high kick into the skeleton’s skull, honestly quite memorable of the stunt you yourself had mimicked earlier of Mal’s signature move. She’s knocked its jaw clean off!

…”Oh?! Did, I really just do that?” She asks, swaying a bit on the spot as it skitters a few feet away, teeth glistening in the flames light from its broken sheathing.

You were about to ask the same question- but before you can even manage to wrap your head around that, the ground rumbles, then collapses beneath your feet. There’s a confused, split moment of the world where Threep’s wings snap out to full expansion, you see more than feel yourself tipping, falling and know this isn’t right- and you, Nia, and the skeleton tumble into the depths below with shouts of horror and surprise echoing back to you from those you leave behind.

It becomes a slide of tumbling rocks right to the bottom of a pit, pebbles still showering around as you land in a heap on the ground, body bruised, but nothing broken as you stagger at once back to your feet. The fall hadn’t been that bad, you can still see faint light from Mal’s torch flickering above… but it was far too far to even consider trying to scale back up, you see at once. 

“Ow,” you can’t help but mutter long after it was really needed, rubbing your abused… everything really.

“Syrum! Are you hurt?” Nia calls, trying to shift a large rock off her dress and looking frantically at you.

“I don’t think so, just sore,” you groan, quickly going over to help her out.

“Syrum! Nia! Talk to me! Where are you!” Imtura’s voice calls down urgently. You can faintly hear Mal and Tyril already bickering about something too.

You look up toward the top to see the three of them illuminated looking down on you. “We’re down here, we’re okay, just, erm, stuck,” you quickly agree, with a mighty heft freeing Nia. Impossibly, her dress seems to have survived with only a little popped stitch. You really ought to consider asking Whitetower where they got that material when you made it there one day.

“Hang tight! We’ll look for a rope!” Mal’s confident assurance leaves you in no doubt he’s going to make one out of thin air if nothing else. 

Continuing to look sharply around, you spot the inanimate pile of bones and armor beside you, then give Nia another good once over. She’s disheveled and covered in grime and dust along with you, but on her feet, and unhurt.

“Hang tight?” You can’t help but laugh. You’ve definitely been spending to much time with Mal. “There’s nowhere to go!”

“I’m so sorry Syrum,” Nia’s voice is a wobbling, painful thing to your ears, withering up your already dry humor. “It’s all my fault! I shouldn’t have let that skeleton grab me!”

“What, Nia, no!” You quickly gather her into a hug. She melts into you, warm, alive, and just as relieved. “You did great! Those things are vicious, they could have grabbed any of us!” You pull back so she can see whatever she can of your bright smile, and she tries to manage one in return at once. “Besides, that kick?! I didn’t know you had that in you!”

She manages the faintest of laughs for you. “Neither did I. I don’t like violence, but I just couldn't let you get hurt.” She squeezes her hands where they still rest around your back. “It’s like my body moved on its own.”

“Those are good instincts to have,” you agree, pressing in tight for one last hug she hungrily returns before stepping back. She lingers though, keeping her hand on your arm. She still looks close to tears, even though she’s trying to steady her breathing to fight them off.

“But I’m not a fighter,” she brushes furiously at her eyes, while you reach up and squeeze her hand on your shoulder so she doesn’t pull away any farther. “I’m doing the best I can, but sometimes I feel like I don’t help enough.”

“Not everyone has to be an amazing fighter!” You say flatly at once. You clutch your satchel tight, and Nia knows you’re not speaking just of her. “You have so many other strengths. Your compassion, your devotion. Even though you haven’t seen much of the world, you still know so much more about it than I ever will!”

Nia smiles in appreciation. You can tell she’s honestly taken your words to heart. “Thanks Syrum. You’re right, I should focus on my strengths.” 

The light spilling down from overhead starts to gutter and fade. You hear Mal curse as it's starting to burn out, and you can’t even see the edges of the pit anymore. 

“Great. Who knows what other dark beasties are lurking around here,” you groan, half a mind to ask one of them to throw your bow down here, but you know it won’t do you any good. Even you can’t manage a blind shot… and you also belatedly realize your quiver is empty, arrows scattered between up there and mostly broken down here.

You sigh and walk around, picking up a measly three still intact, kicking your feet gently around to find them. Even your eyesight is struggling now as it grows darker-

- there’s a soft whispering, a cool breeze snakes around you, and you feel a strange energy in the air…

“Nia? Is that you?” You ask, mingled hope and dread for her to agree as your clutch on your satchel grows tight.

An orb of blue-white light flares to life in Nia’s outstretched palm. She’s smiling even brighter than the suddenly vibrantly illuminated area that has a warm blue glow with nary a shadow in place now all around you. “There we go! A little light to comfort us in the dark times.”

Your heart flutters with wonder as you step close right beside her again to caress the edges, not quite touching. It's pleasantly warm, like stroking Threep while he’s purring. “Like I said, your other strengths,” you chuckle. 

Nia smiles. With a bob of her hand, the orb drifts into the air and hovers on its own before you both, casting brightness among the rubble and the craggy stone walls, making it look like shimmering ice almost bouncing with joy. Curious, you reach out to touch the orb again, already missing the feel of its touch so close-

And your fingers spark with a sudden flicker of energy, like lightning dancing over the tips as you're washed in a rainbow of colors flashing by so fast, it leaves a strobe in your eyes of what they were. 

“What was that? I didn’t do anything, I swear!” You yelp, back peddling away in case you made the magic light orb mad.

Nia gapes at you! … and then a blinding grin spreads over her lips somehow stronger than even the source above you. “Syrum! By the Light, I think you might have the gift! You might be capable of magic!”

“I-” you flounder at her just stating it like that. You stumble to explain, “I’ve learned I should have had, the potential, but I asked Tyril about it and he said it takes a lot to even get the basics. I’ve never done any magic my whole life!”

Nia shuffles closer to you, excitement radiating off of her as she grabs your arm again. She starts speaking so fast, she can hardly catch her breath and is nearly stumbling over her words. “That doesn’t matter! Those with the gift often don’t know it until they’re exposed to it in the wild! It’s why the High Priests test all orphans at the Temple of Light with magical relics! And Syrum, you just responded to my magic!”

“You really think I could be a mage?” You ask, feeling light headed. You can’t even pretend you haven’t indulged the idea, but it’s been far from a priority of late. “Gods, Kade would lose his mind,” you whisper, feeling a bit faint. 

Nia’s grip on your arm squeezes in delight. “I could teach you a little bit as we wait for the others! Like how to make an Orb of Light! I’m certain you’ll be able to do it!”

Your mouth is hanging open in shock, and shame. Why hadn’t you thought of this?! You’d seen Nia try, and fail, to perform magic one time, and you’d assumed she just hadn’t learned any yet this entire time!

She was so easy to talk to about everything, a part of you had apparently, idiotically, thought you knew everything about her by now! The topic of her studies came up all the time, but she always spoke of her learning theories and memorizing, practicing all sorts of things that had just gone right over your head. Gods you’d been an idiot!

“As if I’d pass up the chance to do magic! Okay, what do I have to do, Instructor Priestess Nia? I’m at your tutelage!” There isn’t the faintest drop of joking in your tone, you're standing in place perfectly still before her, or trying to, nearly quivering with excitement. 

Nia giggles, her face glowing in the clear white light from her orb. “Okay. Let’s see if I can walk you through this the way the instructors at the Temple of Light taught me.” She positions herself so she’s sitting directly in front of you, legs crossed, smoothing out her skirt so it flows around her like melting pink slush, and posture straight. Then she reaches behind her neck as you sit eagerly across from her, matching her. 

“First, you’ll need this.” She unfastens her necklace and removes a bright gemstone from it, letting it dazzle in the mystical light. 

“I thought those were just, symbolic or whatever,” you murmur, leaning forward eagerly to take it. “Should have known they were secret magic rocks.”

“Well, partially,” she agrees, smile not dimming one bit any more than the magic light. “This should boost your innate affinity. May I touch your hands.”

“Of course!” You eagerly offer, hands still palm up with the stone resting in place. “Whatever you need to do!”

She smiles warmly as she takes your hands. She brings your palms together in front of you with the gemstone between them, cupping her own hands around them. Her touch is gentle and steady. This close to her, you catch faint hints of her scent, lilacs and honey. Her warm brown skin looks so smooth against the rough calluses in your longer, nimble fingers. 

For once, you see nothing childlike or innocent in her confident shoulders as she nods and says, “before you can cast the Orb of Light, you have to prepare yourself mentally. I like to think of someplace calming. Somewhere I feel comfortable. Do you have a place you can visualize?”

The prow of the Wraith had been your most recent favorite, but that was new, and exciting, not exactly a calming effect.

Naturally, your mind drifted to where you always fell back on whenever you had a moment's doubt. “My home with Kade, in Riverbend. Sure, our rooms weren’t much and every day was the same, but that kind of familiarity sinks into you and makes you feel safe.”

“That’s good. Close your eyes, and tell me about it.” Nia grins eagerly as if she hadn’t heard it all twenty times by now.

You close your eyes, and it's like slipping back into your warm bed bundle as if no time had passed. “We lived behind the bakery just off the town square. Every morning, we’d wake up to the smell of fresh bread. When we had the coin to spare, Kade would head over before I woke up and bring buttered rolls for breakfast.”

“Think about that smell, the way they tasted,” Nia encourages.

“They were so flaky I’d end up with crumbs all over my pillow, but as soon as I bit into them, they melted on my tongue. I’d look around our little rooms, still waking up, savoring it and feeling grateful for the townspeople who took us in. And, grateful, for my brother.” Unlike how you usually concluded stories like this, there’s no quaver in your voice. Just love.

“Excellent,” Nia gives your hands a squeeze. “Hold onto that feeling of warmth, that gratitude…”

You become aware of a new sensation inside of you, an energy in your chest. At the same time, you feel a similar energy coming from the gemstone between your palms. “I think I feel it,” you whisper eagerly.

“Now try to expand that feeling. Use it to tap into your awareness of the world around you. Envision it pouring into the stone.” Nia’s breath is practically ghosting across your face you’re so close, but all you can still smell is that sweet buttery bread on the back of your tongue. “I know it sounds weird, but imagine you can look just underneath your room to the golden strands of fabric that have stitched it together…”

“Like it’s some kind of tapestry?” You want to tense with concentration and push yourself, but somehow, you know that isn’t right. You’re breathing is calm and even, her confidence spilling into you. 

“Yes! Exactly! Do you feel how it ties into the world around you?” She releases your hands slowly, but you don’t open your eyes yet.

You reach for the sensation inside of you, the peace and purpose in your chest. And you suddenly notice how it extends away from you, like ribbons of energy. “Yes! Yes, I feel it now!” Your voice is an eager whisper matching her every cadence.

A warm breeze rushes through you, and you feel as if a bright light is shining inside of you. 

“You’re doing great. Harness that feeling, now here comes the tricky part. Open your eyes, carefully.” She’s smiling, you can hear it in her voice. Whatever you’ve managed, she’s proud of the success you’ve made already.

Slowly, you crack open your eyes while still holding onto the warm glow of your imagination. The gemstone flickers softly in your hands. Nia sits before you, her own palms pressed together. Her skin glows a faintly silvery shade, as if she’s lit from within. 

“Wow, Nia, you look…. strange,” you admit, tipping your head to the side in fascination. Tyril certainly never glowed like that when he did magic. “It’s like you’re on fire, but the fire is ice, and it’s under your skin.”

She giggles and the glow within her shines a little brighter. “That’s the Light suffusing me. You look the same way, Syrum.” You glance hastily down at your hands, and see she’s right! “You have the Light inside of you. Now all you have to do is shape it.”

Her hands stretch apart, and a flicker of crystalline light appears between them again, smaller, but just as dense as the last one hovering above. “Go ahead. Give it a shot. Just imagine the Light pouring out of you and into the space between your hands.”

With a deep careful breath, you slowly peel your palms apart, concentrating on the gap between them. A tiny spark of light appears in the heart of the gemstone! “It’s working! I can feel the Light going out of me!” Your thrilling, pure excitement is stronger than anything you’ve ever felt, and it grows even brighter in response.

“That’s good!” She reaches and squeezes your wrist in delight, her miniature light vanishing. “Focus it all toward that space. Shape the orb within the crystal, and then set it free!”

With a sharp focus, your light grows within the gemstone, then slowly makes its way out and floats in front of you like a tiny, plump moon. “I, I don’t know what to say. Is this even real?” The awe, the rapture in your voice… you’ve never felt anything like it as you stare at the indescribable beauty of the magic you just created… When you look closely, you can see the magic within the orb swirling gently like currents in a stream or clouds in the sky. The warm pride in yourself is something you’ll always cherish.

“Your very first Orb of Light! And perfectly shaped too,” Nia sighs with joy, releasing your wrist with one last squeeze.

“I can’t believe I actually did magic!”

“I didn’t doubt you for a second,” she chuckles. “And see? You’re a natural!”

“Only because I have a good teacher! You’re the natural, Nia. I’ll never have the total control of the Light you have,” she’d been doing this since birth and still felt this level of natural divinity every day!

“Oh, thank you for the compliment, Syrum. You’re really to kind to me,” she shakes her head only to brush her curls back out of her face with her eyes downcast. She tries to give a covert look back to the gaping hole above without you noticing. 

“I’m serious,” you say in shock. “You’re incredibly gifted! I couldn't be happier to have you on my side during this adventure!” You grin at Nia as your orbs bob overhead, twinkling like starlight. She grins back, sitting more comfortably, more confidently. A tear trickles down your cheek and you absently brush it aside as you watch your magic flit around hers. You will never forget this moment. 

“And I’m thrilled to be on yours,” she says from deep in her heart.

As the magical light drifts further up the chamber, it sweeps over strange markings high on the rocky wall. “Hey, what was that?” You’re scrambling up a pile of rubble until you’re eye level with the markings, ignoring the slipping pebbles trying to cascade you back down. Nia calls out from below in concern.

“Maybe it’s a map?”

A map to what? You have no idea where her mind tried to turn to. “No, they’re carvings. Writings. Looks pretty recent too,” you describe, tracing one of your fingers curiously over them, the other still holding your precarious position on the unstable rocks. “Err, something, can never take it from me, the power is mine, that’s all capitalized, these pretenders shall not rip it away-”

“That sounds like more mad scribbles from the captain,” Nia sighs, and you instantly agree with that assumption as you continue staring at the strange… everything about it being here. You wish you knew more about how caves worked, or magic, to understand how it could have ended up on this wall down here. “If the Shard has hold of him, there’s no telling how powerful it made him.”

You shiver, remembering the dark shadow that slithered out of the pile of skeleton bones earlier. “Powerful, and dangerous.” You agree bleakly. 

“Nia! Syrum! Over here!” Mal’s voice echoes from surprisingly close by, and not above you any longer.

“Mal? Where are you?” You slide hastily back down to Nia’s side from the rubble pile, searching for the source of his voice, when his face suddenly appears behind a narrow gap in the rock wall.

It takes a lot of self restraint not to yelp in fright at his pleased grin. “We couldn’t gather enough rope to reach you guys, but luckily I was able to find another way in.”

“Our hero!” Nia smiles as warmly as ever, clearly wishing she could rush forward and hug him. Honestly, you have the same impulse. 

“Thank you, thank you,” he chuckles, and the vivid relief in what little of his face you can see made you confident he probably even would have accepted those hugs without too much of a fuss. “I will be expecting a parade when we’re off this rock! For now, if you’ll follow me.”

You offer Nia back her rock. She shakes her head and folds your fingers back over it. “Keep it, for more practice.”

Sharing one last delighted grin, you and Nia have to get down on your hands and knees and squeeze for all your worth, but you are the slightest and only ones who could have fit through the narrow gap to find yourselves at the other end of the cave, which opens back into the dense jungle. 

Mal’s waiting patiently as you wiggle out, offering you a hand up. “Tyril scouted out this trail, and Threep thinks the source of corruption is up ahead.” Then you’re both doing the same to Nia, and she accepts both as she gets to her feet and brushes herself off. 

“The pirate captain?” You ask in surprise. “You’ve found him?”

“Only one way to find out,” Mal shrugs. He hands you back your bow, and the ten arrows he’d collected from above. Then he brings a finger to his lips and leads you along the path.

In a very short amount of time, you rejoin Imtura, Tyril, and Threep, who glance over to see you both in solid relief and a nod of greeting. They’re crouched behind a set of mossy boulders you’re all quick to join. 

Sitting in the clearing beside a beautiful waterfall, you spot-

“Break my bones, break my bones, bind the Shards and cast the stones…” his skin still retains a greenish orc flesh at least, but it seems, dull, lifeless, so pronouncedly wrong sitting before the most beautiful sight this island had to offer of the lively green foliage in the cascading water. His thick black horns stand prominent nearly on top of his head, curved back through his bursting white hair. His tusks are small, barely visible in his bushy white beard. He’s tied a skeleton to his chest with vines. His furs have mold growing out of them. 

“That’s him all right,” Imtura manages without tearing her voice for how gruff she sounds. “My mother’s captain.”

He’s assembling something before him on the ground, but you can’t quite make out what it is. 

“It’s like he’s performing some sort of ritual,” Tyril remarks, voice softer than a snake sliding through grass. 

Suddenly, the captain stops what he’s doing and stands up straight. 

An instant twinge of terror shoots through your heart as he turns towards where you’re hiding. “Who’s there?” His voice is gruff and demanding, like a captains should be. 

Your group flattens against the rocks, trying to stay quiet, but your eye is drawn to the strange headpiece he clutches in his hand. It looks like he’s fashioned a crown for himself out of driftwood? And at the very center of the crown, you spot a fist-sized hunk of something black, and shiny… The Shard! It’s in his crown!

“Come out, you foul deceivers! I know you’re there. I can smell your blood!” He sounds eager, there’s a delightful growl in his voice, and he licks his lip to prove his point. 

“Hmph, he doesn’t smell so great himself,” Threep snarls, staying low on all fours as he creeps back onto Nia’s shoulder, his wings pressed flat over his bristled fur. You resist the urge to shush him, knowing it's useless. 

“Come to take my powers, have ye? Well, you can’t have them! Let me show you what’s become of those who tried…”  you shiver in disgust and press yourself farther into the ground at the excitement in his voice. 

“He doesn’t know where we are, does he?” Nia’s terrified eyes beg of you to agree, she’s practically curled up tight into a ball to be as small as possible. 

A snapping sound comes from behind you. You and your friends whirl around and find yourselves face to face with another skeleton warrior.

This one has a shield, and an axe.

You’re surrounded by a band of them in seconds. They teeter toward you, their bones creaking, gasping sounds coming from their mouths in rattling, putrid air that stings your nose before you can even finish gasping. 

“We’ve dealt with these guys before, and we can do it again!” Mal’s already on his feet, not a speck of dirt getting sprayed as he elegantly maneuvers himself upright and has his knives in hand. “Remember, crush their bones!”

As your friends leap into action, one of the enemies charges right at you, swinging its rusted, double-handed axe at your throat with a, ‘HHHHKK!’ of anger.

You have no choice but to dodge aside or try to do this beheaded. You fall back as the skeleton leaps toward you, swinging its blade down from the left, but you’re already twisting neatly to the right away, and the blade cuts through the air and slams against the boulder right where you were standing. You stumble a bit in shock at the chips of rubble falling away from the blow. That had been far too close.

He snarls, raising the axe for another swipe, when two hand axes hurtle through the air, cleaving its bony arm from its body. Its neck twists in surprise with a, “hkkk?”

Imtura knocks it to the ground with a furious roar. 

“Thanks for the assist,” you pant, rubbing your neck in gratitude.

There’s a muscle thumping with anger in hers corresponding in time. “Don’t thank me yet. This battle’s far from over.” She pummels the rest of the skeleton’s bones to a fine powder with her boot. “And stay down, you raggedy bastards!”

There’s flagrant joy coming off of her as she kicks their ashes apart as if dancing on their graves.

Tyril and Mal are making easy work of the fragile skeletons as well. Mal deals quick jabs to their weak points, Tyril’s blasting them with his magic with one hand while his sword is occupied with another.

“Khhhk!” A rogue pirate is stomping towards Nia.

“And don’t you ever bother my friends again!” She isn’t backing down this time, but twists, twirls, and then stomps confidently down hard on a skull she just sent rolling, destroying the last skeleton as it collapses into a pile with a perfectly aimed blow.

“Hsssss!” Threep’s guttural snarl right from his puffed up chest on her shoulder is mingled triumph and fury. “Take that, you denizens of Shadow! You’re no match for a Priestess of the Light!”

You hear a booming laugh, and turn to see the pirate captain walking your way. His eyes, bloodshot red and sinking into his face, are locked disturbing right on you. “HAH! Do not be too confident. I had only just tasted the true power of Shadow when I forged those soldiers.”

Mouth painfully dry, hardly able to swallow, you take a staggering step back, but your foot lands on thin air, and you start to fall back towards the water. “Wha-”

“Kit, watch your step,” Mal catches your elbow and steadies you before you can fall right in. You and your friends stand with your backs to the water as the captain approaches. Your fingers ache to clutch your bag, but it would be useless. He already knows.

“Stop this madness!” Tyril slides himself forward, remaining easily in an elegant pose. “Resist the power of the Shard, before it’s too late for you!”

“You speak from a place of ignorance,” his voice is a disgusting wheeze, as if every breath is a painful rotting breath from his collapsing lungs. You honestly can’t believe Tyril is even still trying to reason with him. “But the Shadow Court has taught me well. They’ve shown me wondrous things. Things like THIS!”

He places the crown on his head, and a wave of corrupted energy blows through the clearing. The pirate captain’s eyes burn with evil. “The power! THE POWER!” Flames of darkness are flickering right off of him, burning him from within. His eyes burn orange as much as the skull he’s fashioned to his chest, as if he’s animated the very life from within himself to pour out and suffocate the air.

“All right, this is gonna get ugly,” Mal sneers, keeping his hand tight on your elbow, and giving his knife a little twirl. “We have to defeat him and get that Shard!”

“Get the Shard?” He sounds as if its a painful wrench to even echo it back. 

You belatedly realize you’ve never asked Imtura what this man’s name once was. You suppose it doesn’t matter now. His voice echoes like Duke Erthax’s once had. It’s emanating from within him more than his mouth in pure hatred. “Never! It’s mine!”

Shadows pour down from the Shard, flooding around his body. He breaks into a sprint, staff raised, ready to swing it like a club. 

“Move!” You plow into Nia, your arms snapping up to encircle her head as you crash into the rocky shore. Mal’s somehow practically landed on top of you both, blasting the air painfully out of all three of you. The other two needed no such assistance as you all dive out to the side as the former captain of the Orcish armada’s momentum is too much for him, and he falls right into the lake with a, “bllrrggh!” Of outrage from the water. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Threep trying his best to glide himself out of the current created that would drag him into the water if he didn’t land soon.

“Nice one, landrat,” Imtura grins, already back on her feet, she flashes you a grin. “And take this, you traitorous scum!” Just as fast as an incoming storm, Imtura launches a hand axe at the soulless orc, and it lodges itself in his shoulder. 

“AARRRGH!” He seems more angry than harmed though as he rips it out and glowers at her. “This is far from over!”

The shadows around him roil and lift him out of the lake, and he hovers in place for a heart stopping moment in the very air, before he lands back on the bank, water streaming off of him, through him, his skin is disintegrating before your eyes as more shadows weave in and out of him like vines through a tree. “I've had enough of this!”

He shoots out his hands, and tendrils of shadow lash toward you, binding around your wrists. The Shard in your satchel burns with an icy fire the likes of which you haven’t felt since you held it in your hand so long ago right through to the skin on your hip.

“Aaagh!” It’s pain and fear and the purest form of terror that’s ripped out of your throat as your wrists are bound helplessly.

“Syrum! No!” Nia’s fingers flail useless against them, her hands twisting into the nothingness to break it free as if she weren’t even there.

The tendrils jerk you close, dragging you away. Mal flings both daggers at him, but he doesn’t even notice as they lodge in place, one in his arm, one in a shoulder joint up to the hilt while your boots scrape uselessly across the ground without slowing your speed. Your screams have turned into a raw noise of pain bleeding from your heart.

“Damn! The Shard! We have to do something about that Shard!” Mal bellows, diving to try and catch you, but even as he gets one arm around you, you're still being pulled closer while Mal’s hand only pulls up his own blood as he digs into the earth.

You feel more than see the blast of Tyril’s magic, but it has no impact. Imtura’s other axe flashes silver, it lodges in place, cleaving half his toros away with no more effect as she shouts something. Threep’s trying to get back above and swirl back down all claws, but he still can’t manage to get the air and is darting forward all the same-

“What you can do is submit to the power of the Shadow,” the corrupted one says, his voice growing deeper, a raging inferno speaking calmly. “Let it consume you and show you the truth…” he’s almost crooning as you’re within feet of him now.

You look up at the captain as he leers in your face. It's the nightmare you see every time you close your eyes of the torments assaulting your brother every second. Your bag is quivering across the ground ahead of you as if pulling you in like a magnet.

Rage burns through you, so powerful it drowns out everything. You will never submit. You will have that Shard.

Nia’s tutelage echoes behind your ear as you channel the inner feeling of warmth, of safety, of power, of love of why you resist. 

“The darkness swallows all…” he speaks, bending down to reach for you, or your Shard. You don’t know. You never will. The tendrils of living horror tighten around you one last time.

“Not, the, LIGHT!” You snarl up at him. With a dazzling blast, Light flares out of your palms, blazing right into his face.

“Aggggh!” He bellows, staggering back from you and clutching his hip, as high as you’d been able to aim. 

The shadows dissipate from you. You can’t breathe, not yet, but Mal’s arm finally shaking around you is noticed for the first time as feeling rushes back into you painfully sharp.

“Syrum! You did it!” Nia yelps. You even see a sway of pink as she nearly jumps for joy on the spot.

The pirate captain’s jerked back, throwing a hand over his eyes, and as he does, his crown flies off his head. “No!” Blindly, he’s already moving after it.

“Yes,” you gasp, eyes never leaving its arc of progress, but you’re trembling to hard to move more than your muscles giving out on you and slamming painfully down onto your back to try and just get away.

Mal dives for it, and snatches the crown with a swath of his handkerchief. “Got it!”

“No! NO! They, they promised me-” your enemy is staggering forward, his evil presence reseeding back somewhat. He seems more, orcish, again, but his anger and power is still radiating off of him as he towers over Mal like a mountain prepared to squash an ant. Shadows fester around him, but he is fading. “If I’m going, I’ll take you, with me!” He jerks his fist back, and the tendrils snap back around you-

But you’re stronger. You hold your ground and pull back, ripping free with one last cry of outrage as you roll back as quickly as Mal does from under his presence.

“Like hell you are!” You snarl, gasping, on all fours, and feeling strong.

“N- no! My, my power!” He collapses to his knees, wheezing, his hands grabbing for something, anything. “I, I earned it, I did what they asked! I, purged the traitors in my crew, I was called upon-”

“What’s calling, mate, is your eternal damned slumber.” Imtura’s ax flashes through the air, and she cleaves the captain’s head from his shoulders. His body collapses before you, head rolling to rest right between your trembling arms. She spits on his corpse. “Pffft, bastard.”

No blood leaks from his body. Only the cold presence of shadows ebbing away.

You look up blankly at her, still shaking from head to toe. “I wanted to do that.” She laughs uproariously and offers you a hand you gladly accepted, holding tight to her’s as you force your knees to support yourself. “But I’m glad someone did. Serves him right.” You have half a mind to spit on his empty skull yourself as it lays before you, already putrid with rot. “Turning on his crew, letting the Shadow Court seduce him with promises of power. I am so sick of it!”

You can’t help your fury and kick with all your might, falling farther onto Imtura’s sturdy arm, watching the skull tumble away, horns bouncing upon rocks like scoring a goal each time.

“It could have happened to any of us,” Nia reminds quietly, hugging herself. “If we didn’t know the true power of the Shards. But, he was already dead inside. At least his misery has ended.”

“Good riddance,” Mal’s panting, but back on his feet as well with Tyril’s hands already back at his side so fast you might have imagined him helping Mal up. “And now, we’ve got this.”

The cloth is dappled in his bloody hand, and long since stained before, the very same one you’d seen half a dozen times he used to clean his knives. It’s hardly large enough for him to keep his hand wrapped securely around the delicately separated black Onyx in his grasp. The rest of the crown had apparently evaporated back away along with the rest of his useless construct.

The second shard… finally, you’ve got it. “We’ve got it…” something is bubbling up painfully tight in you, like that life-ending scream hadn't quite finished letting itself out. But this was, more.

It looks, different, than the raw gemstone you’d grown so accustomed to using as the depiction of everything wrong in your life. This one almost looks like a broken construct of something as it glints harshly in the bright sun. The strange almost handle like quality that’s cracked up the middle and clearly broken, the way something is jutting out of one side that’s, smoother, of the same material but shaped into, something?

You sag as relief floods through you, legs folding down like a newborn lamb-colt back to the ground. “We’re one step closer to rescuing Kade…”

“I told you the Light would guide us,” Nia smiles, planting herself down right beside you and leaning into your shoulder. “We’ll save him still.”

Mal hands it to you, and you swallow bile as you give it one last despicable glare, before folding it carefully up and opening the leather pouch containing its other to tuck it inside. “Yeah, but there’s a long way to go yet…”

“We’ve collected two Shards,” Threep’s fluttering his wings with joy in the same tone as Nia, but he’s passing in front of you with his tail a twitching agitation from base to tip. “But that still leaves two more to find.”

“So, where to next?” Imtura’s all energy, running her hand eagerly through her hair and looking around as if hoping another monstrosity would already fall upon her. It’s invigorating to watch even if it does make you start rubbing your wrists. “Say the word and we’ll set course.”

Her enthusiasm still leaves something, haunted in you. The rotted corpse of someone she’d once known makes your skin crawl. “Are you sure you don’t want to drop us back off at Flotilla and help us arrange passage from there? Then you could sail off wherever you please?” You almost hope she’ll say yes, that she’s longing for another adventure now that this one’s been fulfilled in her eyes…. And the thought leaves something longing in you too. “If you keep helping us, you're essentially lending us your ship! You won’t have the freedom you dreamed of-“

“Enough of that landrat,” she scoffs, waving a massive hand airily around. “I’m gonna stop ya right there. I signed up for this, and I’ve got no intentions of bailin’ on ya. This adventure is freedom to me!” She looks you in the eye, and it makes something else quiver in you at the determination radiating off of her. “Besides, these bastards of the Shadow Court corrupted one of my Clan. I can serve the united Clans far better by stopping this threat.”

Grinning, she kneels down, clasping your shoulder. “So, I’ll say it again. Where are we headed next?”

“Didn’t good ol’ Vash say something about another being in-“ Mal’s looking very obviously between you and another certain elf.

Tyril clears his throat and turns away from your group, a grave expression on his face. He’s crossed his arms, and speaks like he was now familiar under one morbid topic of death. “The next Shard is in Undermount, my home.”

[stringoflights93]

Imtura, Our Beloved Woman of Action

During Imtura's diamond scene in Book 2, Chapter 15, she says this while you gawk at her mother's flagship:

It's a big, beautiful ship brimming with (loaded!) cannons. And it just sits at Flotilla, looking impressive while not actually doing anything. Maybe a bit of a metaphor for how Ventra interacts with the world.

But not Imtura!

Once she's in charge, she could leave it there. Keep using the Wraith, her beloved ship. But no.

Imtura puts that ship back to work! She pulls it out of harbor to come be useful and help save the world. Because she care about doing the work and helping people, not just looking good.

[stringoflights93]

Chapter 5: The Floating City

With Orc Pirates led by Imtura on one side, and monstrous grobtars on the other, you’re finding yourself in a bit of a pickled situation!

“Glllrgggr!” The grobtar was spitting a noise from its throat like a very disturbing belch, eyes narrowed in on Mal’s movement like a trained predator as more and more come heaving over the sides of the ship.

“Why do things always go from bad to worse?” You mutter to yourself, fumbling for, anything…but the orc’s had already stripped you of your weapons.

As more grobtars pull themselves over the side of the ship, Imtura lowers her axe from Gerhard’s throat and calls out to her crew. “Looks like we’ve got some competition for the goods, mates! ATTACK!”

She and her pirate's charge. She draws a second wickedly sharp axe from her hip and slashes both into the nearest grobtar, which drops to the deck in an agonizing, “GGLLRRRR!”

“Whoah, she is good,” you mutter in awe at the speed with which she moves, hardly able to see her choice of weapon she spun them with as much grace as Mal, and the kind of single minded focus you already knew Tyril to have.

“I’ve seen better,” said elf heard, and is clearly not as impressed.

Another grobtar hurls a trident your way, and it misses Nia by barely an inch. 

“Light have mercy!” Threep yells as loudly as Nia squeals.

“Kit, elf, let’s show these sardines they messed with the wrong crew,” Mal demands attention as much as ever, coming out of his roll, knives in hand.

Nia’s keeping Threep safely in her arms and runs below deck, your unsearched satchel still safely in hand as well. As the grobtars close in, Tyril blasts them away with a wave of magic. “They don’t look like much of a challenge to me,” he says in a return of that scary calm voice.

But even as he says it, you can tell there are too many, at least two for every pirate aboard. One leaps at you, stabbing its spear toward your gut with a, “GGGLRBBBRRRR!” of challenge. 

Hopefully the same trick would work twice. You quickly sidestep right into some ropes and bend down to quickly curl them in hand, and whip it out at the nearest creature. “Get back!” Far more confidence than you deserve is in your voice.

The rope lashes across its eyes, and it drops its spear to clutch at its face with some nasty rope burn. “Mllrggg!”

“Good work, I’ll finish this one,” Tyril says, neatly cutting in to stab his blade through the grobtar’s chest, then kicks it over the side of the deck. 

“Damn it, they’re everywhere!” Mal howls in frustration, unable to get any ground to leap and parry an attack without another trying to cut in. He fells one after another with swift blows of his daggers, but he and Tyril are soon swallowed up by the mass of scaly bodies. You have no doubts though that they are blocking the way below decks and won’t be moved from their position as you look desperately around for your bow and arrows, only to see your quiver long since kicked in the stampede, useless arrows every which way.

All across the decks of both ships, Gerhard’s sailors and Imtura’s pirates fight side by side, barely keeping the wave of them at bay.

“Don’t flag now, you dogs!” Gerhard’s trying his best to rally his crew, but having already conceded defeat once, you can feel the low morality in the air as the orcs blast through all hesitation. “Get these fish freaks off my ship!”

“Take THAT!” Raine’s cut through another with only a fishing hook, catching the edge of a grobtars mouth, the pointed end shooting up through its skull painfully, but not killing it. Only distracting it long enough for the slim, young green gal who’d assaulted you to come over and finish ripping its head away.

The other sailors fire crossbows between a grobtar's eyes, but another grobtar slithers over the body of its fallen comrade right at her with a, “bllrrrrh!” of challenge. 

“Not so fast!” The brutish, large orc who’d assaulted you and Nia steps in. Imtura’s pirate smashes his fist into the side of the grobtar’s head, unhinging its jaw and sending it flying. It was easily the coolest, most disgusting thing you’d ever seen as black blood glimmers across the surface as much as the sea water. 

Imtura flows gracefully across the two decks, her hand axes swinging in quick, powerful arcs. She lets out a whoop as she fells grobtar after grobtar. “Ha! You’ll have to try harder than that, sharkbait!”

As she’s tearing through her foes, she misses the massive grobtar swinging up over the railing, its glowering eyes latched onto her back. This one has yellow in its fins and underbelly, something regal about its appearance in the purple shell-crown it wears and a golden scepter covered in some sort of undersea spongy looking material.

The enormous grobtar drops onto the deck with a resounding thud and lunges for Imtura, its powerful body knocking aside anyone in its way with a, “GRRROOBBBBB!”

“Imtura, behind you!” The shout is ripped from you in pure fear, but some echo of deja vu in the back of your head is laughing, already knowing how useless a shout is as you’re moving, lunging, and begin undoing the rigging on the railing next to you, grabbing hold of the heavy weight, and swing it forward with all your might with a, “HRRAH!”

It catches, the heavy metal weight smashing into the grobtar, cracking it square in the skull. It staggers into the railing with a, “glrrgr?”

Imtura sprints over, grinning with exhilaration. “Nice move landrat!”

“Landrat?” You can’t help but laugh among the melee, throwing your arms wide at the universe. “C’mon, I just earned a way better nickname than that!”

“Grrbbb,” the chief grobtar is already groggily getting up, lurching upright again, its piercing eyes narrowing on you.

“This one’s going to be tricky,” Imtura warns, now staying surprisingly close to you and narrowing her eyes critically, though her axes never stop spinning. “Their chiefs are made of tough stuff.” She swipes the blades on the corpse of a felled grobtar at her feet, then raises them in front of her. “But not as tough as me!”

“GRRRRRGGLLL!” Is the grobtar chiefs answer. He doesn’t seem as impressed as you are that the blood of his enemy is literally dribbling down her arms as she screams in fury.

Imtura and the grobtar chief let out twin howls and lunge forward, clashing with a clang of their weapons.

While they’re squaring off, you dive to help, swinging your whole weight (as minimal as it is) into the arm of the nearest cannon. It swivels just enough in its bolted position to smack the creature off balance and make its writhing scales fumble while she gains the upper hand. You keep moving, finally diving, and rolling up with your bow and one arrow back in hand.

Imtura’s slashing fiercely, cutting up the grobtar's arms, but it lashes out with its tail and sends her crashing into a pile of crates with her own groan of, “urhg!”

“Hey, don’t you turn your back on me,” you remind with white hot fury in your veins for these menaces. You knock and fire straight between the chief's shoulders, but it just reaches back and yanks it out with an enraged howl. “It’s to strong, we need some other tactic!” You yell to her, gladly taking any ideas!

Imtura spits out a mouthful of blood, twirling her axes in her hands. “Bah, no such thing as- hey, that’s mine!”

You follow her gaze to the deck of her ship, where a horde of grobtars crashes out of the captain's quarters, tossing a spiked gauntlet between them and gurgling in triumph. It was gold, and looked thick and heavy like armor. The spikes start at the knuckles and went up the wrist in a vertical pattern protruding larger every few inches the farther it went back until it would be nearly up to the elbow. It was hard to judge from so far away and them moving it, but most likely it would be far to big on you.

“Landrat, I’ll handle the chief!” Okay, apparently that nickname is sticking. You really don’t have time to argue with her as you follow their progress. “You get that gauntlet back from its grunts. It’s valuable, and powerful enough to help take this bastard down!”

You nod and grab hold of the nearest rigging and swing yourself onto the deck of Imtura’s ship. There’s not a single moment of thrill to realize you’re actually in the air by just a rope, because there’s no river and laughing brother at the bottom. It’s life or death as you easily land, one knee bracing your fall, and look up ready to kill some more of these things.

Obviously startled and not expecting your grand entrance, you crash into the nearest grobtar leading the pack, sending it tumbling head over fin. The gauntlet flies from its hands. It makes a horrible, spitting, “ggrrrllbb!” noise at you that you’re growing to loath.

“I’ll be taking that,” you snap. You come out of your tackle in a crouch, eyes on the gauntlet, but the ranks of grobtars form a wall in front of it. They part their massive jaws, spittle flying as they shriek at you with, “greeeeks!” that are painful enough to make you wish you had some candlewax to shove into your ears.

They lunge forward, teeth bared, spears glinting in the sunlight, like a powerful wave of sharpness crashing toward you. 

Luckily, you have a strength of your own. You take a deep breath and had already categorized a quick stock of the deck upon your swing over, sharp eyes missing nothing as you blocked out the roar of the approaching monstrosities. You saw something earlier you could use, you know it- you spot just what you need, another long trail of rope. Perfect.

You shoot the grobtars a grin, and then take off running. “Hey uglies, keep up!”

With a snarl, the grobtars slither after you! You grab the rope, and double back, trapping a cluster of them with, “grrrkks!” of protest.

The grobtars struggle and lose their balance. You give the rope a heave, and the cluster of them tumble over the railing and into the sea. You snatch the gauntlet, grab hold of a hanging rope, and swing back onto Gerhard’s ship, where Imtura’s fending off the chieftain still. It’s lost its weapon at some point along with an entire arm, but isn’t slowing down in the slightest with those saber like claws trying to peel her apart. 

“About time deckswabber,” there’s a smile hidden under those tusks though. Up close you can see her eyes are as green as her skin, with brilliant flecks of gold in them that match her earring. “Thought you were leaving all the fun to me!”

“Fun? You look like you could use a hand,” you smirk, giving the glove an unsubtle toss.

The chief grobtar doesn’t seem to think it as funny as Imtura’s quiet chuckle as he releases a, “GLRRGLGG!” of outrage at her continuing to evade him. It strikes suddenly, and not in the direction you were expecting, knocking you flat on your back. 

“Hrk!” Pain radiates out from all over. The sky above is vibrating with the impact as your eyes rattle in your head. 

The grobtar chief leans in close, its rank hot breath washing over you as its jaw snaps inches from your face, one clawed hand digging tight into your arm so there’s no escape, black blood is oozing all over you, leaving your death grip on the gauntlets wrist the only solid thing to hang onto. You can only hear the strain, the grunt of Imtura holding fast to its tail the only thing saving your life. 

“Get, off, of, me!” You’ve come to far. You will not die on this ship by some overgrown fish when Kade still needs you. You look the grobtar dead in the eye, and say, “mrrkkll plrk.”

The grobtar chief blinks, stunned. Its grip on you loosens. “Mr-mrrkl plrk?” It repeats, fascination somewhere in its deep yellow eyes. The esca upon its forehead even dips lower, twisting across your face in a slimy pet.

You jab a finger into its chest and glare up at it. “You heard me! Mrkll, plrkll!”

It bounds off of you, bowing its head in reverence, repeating the phrase in a strange submissive way. 

“How, the hells, did you just…” Imtura’s momentarily stunned out of fighting. You’re honestly just as baffled at where the hell that came from. “Never mind, I’ll ask later,” she grunts. You kind of hope not. You don’t have a good answer. 

She kicks the grobtar chief as hard as she can, sending it flying overboard. She hefts you back to your feet, and you grin at her stunned expression. “I’ve always been a natural with animals,” you shrug with a mild smile.

Surveying the ship, the tide of battle has finally turned, the grobtars either dead or leaping back into the ocean now that their chief has been knocked out of the playing field. Mal and Tyril approach rapidly, bloodied and tousled but alive, as they take in the same of you. 

“The outcome is as I anticipated. We persevered,” Tyril’s as close to smiling as you ever see him, sweeping his long hair out of his face just long enough to continue polishing off his sword.

“Preserved my ass!” Mal seems almost drunk on adrenaline still, swaying and slinging his arm around you. “We won!”

Nia’s tentatively poking her head out, escorted by Raine. When she sees the all clear on the deck, she carefully steps out around the carnage, Threep held protectively in her arms. You’re so relieved she’s alright you feel close to tears.

“That we did!” She clearly heard Mal’s triumphant cry as a sign of safety and is already smiling. “The Light was with us today.”

You throw your arms around her in a hug, and she laughs in delight and hugs you back, slipping your satchel back over your shoulder without hesitation as you separate. Looking around the rest of the ship, you see triumph barely covers the victory that this was. 

A few sailors lie wounded, along with a few pirates, but both ships are intact. Captain Gerhard paces the deck with a grin. “My word! I’ve never seen a battle like that! The slashing! The crashing! That thing with the rigging! Hot damn, am I proud of you lot!”

Mal takes a bow as if waiting to be showered with more. “Happy to be of service, you salty sea dog.”

“We did what we had to,” Tyril agrees, sheathing his sword and back to being as stoic as ever. You notice there’s little less than a foot of space between him and Mal still, though.

“Those grobtars will think twice before coming for the old Sun Maiden again! Hahaha!” Gerhard seems like a brand new man he’s so utterly delighted, all but skipping away to the rest of his crew. 

“Our pleasure,” you laugh as he departs. Your heart is fluttering hard in your ears, coming down from the rush of adrenaline and feeling on top of the world. 

Threep flutters over to you on ungainly wings, perching on a nearby railing. “The terrible fish beasts are defeated, but, I do believe we still have a pirate problem on our hands?” His eyes are resting with distrust on Imtura.

“Maybe not,” you can’t help the confident grin. Hopefully that’s not just your brain high on fuel, but you don’t think so. Looking around, it seems like there’s a stalemate between the sailors and the pirates. Each side tends to their wounded, eyeing each other warily. Raine’s offering to throw a shroud over the dead orc. The largest brute who has now threatened your life and saved it in the same span of time is shaking his head and gesturing towards the ocean.

Raine nodes, and moves to cover one of her own instead in respectful silence. Spotting Gerhard’s first mate nursing a gash across her arm, you approach Raine to pitch in. “Mind if I help? I’m pretty handy with stitches.”

“Urk, I suppose it’s a good sight better than what I was going to do,” she sighs. You decide you don’t really want to know how she’d knit herself back together as she eyes a torch rolling across deck and go fetch a medicine kit from the storage below and help her clean the wound properly. She bites down on a leather belt while you stitch the wound shut with an, “nnngh,” of pain. 

Finally, you wrap fresh gauze around the sealed wound to protect it. “There we go, much better,” you give her wrist a gentle squeeze. 

“Thank you kindly, Syrum,” her grin is entirely gratitude. She even brushes her hand across your cheek suggestively and leans forward.

Your heart fumbles in shock, but you don't pull away for a few hesitant moments before deciding against the intended offer. As you stand back up, Imtura approaches you, her axes sheathed. A small, not that small, part of you wonders if she just witnessed that… but you scold yourself to keep your focus. 

There’s black fish blood matted and woven into her locks along with scales and some other unmentionable bits, an ornamental purple shell is dangling precariously from her horn from that chief’s scepter. The worst of her injuries is just some deep gashes though, one particularly nasty one dripping down her jaw from her cheek. She’s taken little notice of it. “Well now, we appear to have ourselves a bit of a dilemma. See, I want nothing more than to get back to wrecking and raiding this here ship, but your crew came to our aid. You, landrat, helped me take on the grobtar’s chief. Now why would you do that?”

“I can’t resist a pretty face,” you say without a second of hesitation. “Especially one who fights like you do.” 

…there’s a deep pang of surprise at yourself in your chest. Gods, the last time you’d instinctively filtered with someone had been back in Riverbend, while Kade had been there to laugh at your pitiful attempts…

Imtura blinks, stunned. Then she tosses back her head and laughs heartily. “A smooth talker, are ya?” She seems, almost impressed. You will not blush, that is the last thing you will do. “Ordinarily, I wouldn’t give anyone a pass for a bit of flattery. But seeing as how you did just help save my ship, I suppose I’ll let it slide this once. You have my gratitude, clever one.” Her eyes flit down to the massive, spiked fist still clutched tight in both your hands. “And my gauntlet?” 

There’s something strange in her voice. Not quite a challenge. You’re not sure what to make of it. “Oh, right. I imagine you want this back.” You hold it out without hesitation. 

Imtura sighs wearily. “It’s a hell of a weapon, but that ain’t the law of the sea. The grobtars took it from me. You took it from them. That means it’s yours, mate.”

“You, you mean that?” Your whole body might have suddenly gone numb, as if to make up for the shooting sparks it was giving off before by hard switching up on you now. 

“I do,” she’s meeting your eyes, nodding calmly. She’s…impressed. That’s the tone you couldn’t pinpoint. 

“Thanks, but I don’t really know how to use it,” you sheepishly admit, trying one last time to make sure she’s sure. 

“Then you’ll just have to learn,” Imtura’s tipped her head to the side, sizing you up in a new light. With trembling fingers, you tuck the gauntlet into your satchel. The weight has nothing on that Onyx shard in its pouch…but you don’t carry it anymore lightly either.

“So, what happens now?” Mal’s always there to lightly interrupt. With a thrill of embarrassment, you realize you had no clue what your three friends were doing while you engaged with Imtura. You honestly wouldn’t know what to do without Mal injecting himself into a conversation anymore after…gods, weeks of it now?! “Please don’t say we go back to fighting.” There is exhaustion evident in his voice. 

“It appears I’m in your debt,” the pirate captain says more plainly than ever, grudging admiration still prevalent in her voice as she looks all around again before going back to sizing Mal up now. You can’t help but try to stand taller, at her sudden focus, and know how pathetic and useless it is. “If you want us to sail off and leave you be, you only have to say the word.” 

“In our debt you say?” You can’t help a smile unfurling, a new possibility springing to life in your mind as you continue eyeing her for another reason now. You glance back at your companions. Mal shakes his head vigorously, while Nia enthusiastically nods. Tyril quirks an eyebrow. “Actually, there is something else you could do for us. We’re looking for passage to Flotilla.”

“Flotilla?!” You couldn’t have shocked her more if you’d suddenly sprung a foot and turned green. “You want to go there? You do know it’s a pirate city, ruled by the united orc Clans-”

“Under Ventra Tal Kaelen, yeah, we’ve heard,” you sigh in exhaustion. “It doesn’t matter why. We need to get there.” 

“You’re really pushing the boundaries of my generosity here,” Imtura is surprisingly not pleased. At least you might not have to worry about a double cross and being thrown in her brig. 

“I’m sorry. I thought you said you were in our debt?” You can’t help the light, teasing tone and twirling your fingers through the air at the grobtar blood. “Or are you not big on honoring your word?” Your tone is probably still a tad too flirtatious for the situation, and you do not care.

She lets out a long, weary sigh, nostrils flaring, reminding you vividly of a longhorned-donkey that’s only moving that cart because of the carrot and the stick on each end. “Fine. I’ll take you to the city gates, but that’s as far as I go. The rest is up to you.” 

“You won’t help us get inside?” Nia baulks. 

Imtura laughs as she turns away and begins heading back to the deck of her ship. The sound is reminiscent of a hyena-bird you’d once seen flying away with a crow-foxes meal in its own talons. “Trust me, one minute in that den of sea-vipers and you’ll wish you’d never made it inside. If you can even get in.”

She begins addressing her crew, throwing her arms out wide. “All right mates, ready the sails! We head for Flotilla!” 

They cheer and seem much more ecstatic for this change of course than their leader. She shakes her head and gives you, all of you, one last rueful look before stomping away, making one easy leap across the decks with those legs. 

Tyril and Nia go below deck to collect your meager belongings while Mal helps you flit around and collect what few arrows aren’t broken or long vanished before approaching Imtura’s ship, muttering amongst yourselves. 

“Are we sure traveling with pirates is truly a wise choice?” Tyril’s murmurs, standing his ground on Gerhard’s deck, looking unpleasantly at the other. “They don’t seem, honorable.” His voice holds a weight in that word you already suspect means a great deal to him. As it does for you. You can only vaguely wonder how that trait passes among the different people of the realm.

“They’re pirates!” Mal’s already rolling his eyes. “Of course they’re not honorable! They’ll double-cross us the second they can!” Even as he says it, he seems no more willing to jump ship.

“Yeah, well, I don’t see any better options,” you remind, being the first to leap from one to the other. “We’ll just have to stay on our guard.” You offer your hand out to Nia in assistance.

“This is not the life I was hoping for when I finally emerged from my crystal,” Threep bemoans, trotting agility between a blown apart railing wobbling between the two ships, wings and tail easily keeping his balance. 

Nia takes your hand without further hesitation and daintly joins you. The boys finally do so after exchanging one last look. Biting your lip to fight off a smile that finally they’d found something to agree on, you turn to see Gerhard approaching one last time.

He’s shaking his head seeing where all of you are, apparently called the Wraith according to a few nearby orcs muttering at the damage to the ship. Gerhard calls out from the deck of his own Sun Maiden. “You saved my ship, Mal, but good riddance all the same to you lot.” 

“I’m sure we’ll cross paths again,” Mal’s leaning against a wobbling bit of wood with his usual lack of concern for the world in general. You’re not sure when that’s become endearing rather than infuriating. 

“Gods I hope not,” Gerhard mutters, stomping away. 

“Traveling with pirates, I sure hope you know what you're doing Syrum,” Mal says, watching him depart and not turning to look at you. 

Yet with a lingering smile in your voice, you now know for certain there’s no hesitation in him of staying aboard there. No, you get the feeling he’s just, being Mal, testing these new surroundings in his own way. “I’m doing whatever it takes,” you remind. 

Imtura suddenly appears beside you at the Wraith’s railing, a huge grin on her face. Gods but she could apparently be quite quiet when she wanted to be! “Really? Because you sure don’t look like you know what you’re doing, mate. You walk into Flotilla dressed like that, they’ll laugh you right back out the gates.” In her short time seeing her crew set off, she’s slathered some kind of salve over her cuts, but hasn’t done much more to clean up, every inch the same powerful and intimidating leader you’d first spied. 

You’re surprised at the care she’s apparently put into this and stare down at your clothing. You are, admittedly, drenched, ragged, and as shriveled as if the ocean had spat upon you and thrown you out multiple times, now with accompanying grobtar stains. The state of yourself irks you, and it shows in your tone. “What’s the matter with my outfit?” The belligerence is ridiculous. You feel ridiculous staring up at her. That’s all. 

“There’s nothing the matter with it, perse,” to your shock, she’s still smiling, eyeing a particular tear in your pants high above your knee with interest. “But you don’t look like you’ve cut many throats, plundered much booty…” she trails off, something suggestive in her tone you have no clue how to respond to, other than ludicrousy it seems.

“Maybe I don’t want to look like I’m plundering booty!” You snap.

“Phrasing Syrum, phrasing,” Mal gently pats your shoulder. You valiantly resist the urge to wither away and die on the spot of embarrassment and quickly close your mouth.

“Point is,” Imtura is laughing, and you are mortified. “You’re gonna stick out like a sore thumb, and that’s never a good idea. I’ve got some more appropriate gear, if you’re interested. Should even fit a runty landrat like you.” 

Swallowing the painful shame in your throat, you concede in an effort not to come across as a pathetic child, “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to try it on.” You say mulishly. 

Imtura goes off, and you follow with your heart pounding somewhere in your throat. 

The steps leading down from this deck don’t let you out in anything much grander than Gerhard’s storage room, but it’s also much more roomy in comparison. Bunks hang from the walls, several orcs already adorning them and still nursing their injuries. 

Imtura makes her way over to a crate against the far wall where a whole heap of clothing is freshly cleaned and hanging on clothes racks or in the box waiting to be grabbed apparently. 

She retrieves an outfit from inside and hands it over to you, then nods and walks off. You duck behind the nearest available curtain and peel off your sodden rags once more.

 Gods it's everything you ever imagined for yourself being a pirate in those stories a whole lifetime ago as you run your hands along the new material. The warm, heavy leather of the vest, with thick golden strands holding it all together. The shirt that looks so light, as if woven from clouds. She’s even offered you a red sash you could choose to tie around your forehead or across one of your eyes! For now, you settle it about your waist, enjoying the way it swishes against your leg as you walk back to the stairs. And it’s free?!

Imtura’s waiting at the top of the stairs for you along with the rest of your friends. Mal and Tyril clearly weren’t happy about you trotting off without a second thought if those looks on their faces was any indication, but they’ve already relaxed upon Imtura’s return, and smile in surprise upon seeing you.

 “I’ll take it,” you say graciously with whatever little pride you have left being drowned out in your mind. “Whatever will help out looking the part in Flotilla, right?” 

“That’s the spirit mate!” She gives you a hearty slap that sends a rush of blood straight back to your face, and other places. You swallow and are very proud of yourself for standing your ground and not even wincing. “You’ll look proper enough to commandeer a fleet.” 

“I’ll say,” Mal says with a whistle, rubbing a bit of the soft sash between his fingers. “I think the pirate's life might be your true calling, kit.” The words, somehow, leave you feeling even more lightheaded. It just felt, right, the compliment, the image painting in your mind. You resist the urge to snatch your sash away, the thought not even crossing your mind he’d steal it anymore.

“He’s right!” Nia’s always there to enthusiastically agree with whatever you need her to, and this is no exception. “You look like you’ve sailed the high seas your whole life, having adventure after adventure!” 

“It suits you,” Tyril’s agreement surprises you most of all. You are now officially gaping. 

“Th-thanks,” you stutter, straightening your shoulders. You’ve never had so much praise heaped on you in your life. It's the best feeling you never could have imagined. Then you grasp the strap of your satchel as that familiar longing thrums in the back of your mind. “Let’s save the flattery for after we do what we need to do in Flotilla,” you remind, trying to reign yourself back in. 

Imtura catches hold of the rigging and swings over to the entrance to her quarters and disappears inside. She reemerges with a map, sextant and spyglass that she spreads before you on the Wraith’s deck as she kneels down. “We’ll want to come at Flotilla from its arse end. Front’s too heavily patrolled.” 

“But that shouldn’t be a problem for you, right?” You ask in utter confusion as you crouch beside her. “Seeing as how, you’re a pirate too, and all,” you gesture over her, everything.

“Hah!” She gives you a friendly wink. You’re very grateful for these loose pants. “You think pirates are all one big family? Trust me, you do not want them to spot me.” 

What the hells kind of ride did you just commander? 

No time to worry about it now, as is your mantra of late. She makes a few pencil markings along her map, then lifts her gaze to the sea, narrowing her eyes slightly as she examines the horizon. The wind keeps catching her hair and flitting it about her face, the sun streaming down and gleaming off her skin makes her look as if a pillar of fire about to ignite any moment. The confidence exuding off of her is enthralling to watch. “Flotilla backs up on the Glittering Reef. It’s why they don’t take much effort to patrol around there. Plenty of lesser captains have shredded their hulls to bits on that reef, but not me, and not today.” 

She shoves the map into your hands and bounds up to the helm. “All right landrat, I’ve got some fancy wheelwork to do! Guide me through this reef, and we’ll be at Flotilla in no time!” 

“Me?! Wait, what are you-” You look between your companions and back towards her…but she’s only referred to you as that so far. Does she really mean you?!

“To late! The reef!” Tyril’s sharp eyes have clearly spotted something in the water from his position still on the railing. “We’ve already reached it!” He points out a rapidly approaching mass of craggy rocks that stab out of the ocean like daggers. 

“Aye, that’s the reef!” There’s excitement and not a trace of surprise in Imtura. “We’re closing in fast, mates! Let’s set us a course!”

“Uh, kit!” Mal’s nudging you hard with his elbow, eyeing the jagged rock like structures and clutching his knife with the other as if it would do any good. “I think this is the part where you read the map and tell our captain which way to go!” There’s urgency in his voice for you to take the lead you had no idea he was capable of.

You tear your eyes from the menacing rocks to stare down at the map in your hands. It’s an intricate sketch of the reef with Imtura's notes all over it. Her handwriting is surprisingly elegant and legible, far more than your shoddy penmanship the few times you bothered to sit down and learn your letters. Kade had always been so patient with you about that-

“Right,” you yelp, swallowing your terror and with a steadying breath, read the map without further hesitation on pure instinct as if you’d been doing it all your life. You’ve been navigating the woods since you could toddle, you’d never waited to leap in and help Seria upon any task no matter how squeamish some found bloody wounds. You’d been identifying plants before anybody bothered to teach you to read. 

You can do this. It’s all about picking out landmarks and finding hidden trails. Trust in the path nature always showed you. You look back out at the water, note the sun's position in the sky to locate yourself on the map, and then scan the rocks up ahead.

“Syrum?” Nia’s voice is strained holding tight to your arm, her nails digging in probably the most lethal thing she’d ever done. “We don’t have much time!”

You see a huge rock looming ahead of you, and notice Imtura has traced a path around it on the map. “I’ve got it. We have to go left past that big rock up there, then right around the next cluster we’ll see.” You’ve pitched your voice, loud, confident, as sure of your path as you’ve been every step leaving the Temple.

“You heard that scrubbies!” There’s joy in Imtura’s voice echoing your own. “Cut to port for two clicks, then to starboard for five!”

“Ayeaye captain,” the one lass who’d once tried to lop your own head off is now moving with grace upon her deck to follow orders at your behest. 

“You’re a natural Syrum!” Her calling out your name is a shocking jolt far more than any wind caught in those sails. How did she, when did she even learn- You can’t help but wonder if she heard Raine saying it back when she was- “Cut to seven NOW, you moldy loafs!” 

Tyril grips the railing with a tight knuckled grip as the ship lurches around the rocks, its hull creaking and groaning as if laughing along. “This is, the least enjoyable mode of transportation I can imagine.”

“I don’t know,” Nia’s starting to laugh lightly, her grip has eased tremendously upon your arm. “Once you get past the terror, this is rather thrilling!” 

“That’s the spirit!” Imtura shouts from above. It’s amazing how the wind seems to be joyfully twirling all of your words together so nobody misses a beat. “Who woulda thought the one in the fancy dress was the toughest of you lot?”

“Urgh,” Threep is enjoying himself about as much as Tyril, a tightly curled ball of fur and wings at Nia’s feet hastily chewing on something dried you’d seen in Nia’s bag earlier between words. “I’m regretting having that salmon for breakfast.”

“You are literally eating salmon right now!” Tyril says in something close to morbid curiosity for the nespar. You share his bafflement with the creature of knowledge. 

“I know, and I regret it,” Threep says without slowing his pace by one jawful.

Over the next few hours, you help Imtura guide the ship through the reef, past the husks of wrecked boats. With a gentle disentanglement from Nia, you even scale up to be on level with Imtura, staying a polite distance away as she mans the helm so you can give her better directions while she does all the shouting. You feel on top of the world beside her, like you're steering an entire house across land the only kind of comparison you could ever dream of making to this feeling. Mal’s at the front, wind in his face blowing his hair aside and laughing, Nia’s happy to join in. Tyril and Threep stay close to the quarters but firmly on deck, at least out of the worst of the wind. You're all breathless once you reach calmer waters.

“That was amazing!” It’s different than the rush fighting for your life had given you, or even the storms and running for your life. This had just been pure, unfiltered, fun the likes of which you haven’t felt in so long, even back in boring old Riverbend. “I can hardly believe you got us through that Imtura. Have you always been a sailor?” 

“You could say that,” there’s something sad mingled in her prideful answer you can’t fathom. “The sea’s my home, that’s for sure.”

“Not Flotilla?” Mal notes with interest and one quirked brow as he joins you both up top.

You long to jab him in the throat to shut that up, she’d made that obvious enough to you.

Imtura’s face clouds with uncertainty in answer to all. “Flotilla is, complicated.” She agrees, her hands needlessly tightening upon the wheel for the first time.

As if on cue, bobbing into sight, a vast floating city made of hundreds of ships all lashed together is coming into view.

It is easily the most amazing thing your brain could never have hoped to put together. Ships three or higher were stacked upon each other, with miles of plank bridges and all manner of lashings holding them all together. They’re homes, that’s easy enough to discern, with different colors floating out of each window. 

The sense of community, surprisingly, is as bustling and bright as Port Parnassus had been. 

Imtura docks along a back entrance, and ushers you down a ramp into the city’s winding streets. The water is lapping right through some of the sturdy ramparts. “Whoa,” you tap your boots down like a kid playing in a puddle. “I can hardly believe we’re still in the middle of the ocean!”

“I’ve read that sometimes the whole city will sail out as one to raid other cities,” Nia says, the same awe in her voice that is capturing your heart. 

“All right mates, debt’s paid,” Imtura is already giving this place one last displeased look, and you a lingering smirk as she turns away. “Now if you don’t mind, I’ll be-”

“HEY! HEY, WRAITH!”

The orc rushing towards you has the most oakish brown-green skin, his armor matching in its bronze. The axe he casually has strung over one shoulder easily weighs as much as the four of you put together, maybe five if you count Imtura. There’s some bright turquoise symbols painted on his breastplate you can’t imagine the meaning of, and his helmet is either welded to his head, or giving the impression that he has four horns, (the first upon his brow as was custom, the second where his ears should be) you cannot decide which. 

Guards, you finally realize too late. You’d recognize that stance of one about to arrest you easily by now. 

Imtura swears under her breath as a pair of them come running up the docks. At the sight of Imtura, they drop to one knee and bow their heads. “All hail Princess Imtura!”

She smacks a hand to her forehead with enough force to knock a flying bird dead and lets out a low groan as you and your companions stare blankly at her. 

“Uh, princess?” You repeat, just to be sure.

“The United Clans of Flotilla are delighted at your return, and Her Majesty the queen demands an audience at once!” The guard continues as if you were no more worrisome than snail-fish stuck to the gangplanks. 

“Your return? The queen?” Tyril is in the same boat as you, just kind of repeating it to make it make sense.

“By the Light,” Nia utters softly, apparently the first to fully, really grasp, “you, you’re Ventra Tal Kaelen’s daughter!”

“And here I just thought you were being a royal pain in my-”

Mal does not get a chance to finish, being spoken over by the guard. “Her Royal Majesty also humbly insists that any and all guests and crew in the princess’s custody accompany her to the throne room!” His voice is deep, gravely not to be questioned.

You feel a sudden burst of insignificance and clear your throat, but don’t bother to respond. It would not go well for you. Best get used to it in this place where you would be, hands down, the scrawniest creature in town. As if that were anything new. Even the toddler clutching his mothers hand passing by looks strong enough to toss you back to the depths of the ocean as he gapes at you with his tusks on full display while his mother ushers him on.

Imtura is weighing her options. Apparently deeply considering full mutiny and swimming out of here is quite tempting. She sighs, though, finally with a frustrated growl, and she comes up alongside your group without further hesitation. “Fine. Let’s just get this over with so I can be on my way.”

She calls back over her shoulder for some of her people to stay aboard and clean up, as well as restock, apparently already planning a fast getaway. The guards don’t seem concerned at this compromise of at least their princess coming along.

They steer you through the sprawling maze of Flotilla into a vast wooden complex at the city’s heart. 

Flames burn in the innermost chamber, filling the space with a clustering heat. Testaments to the orc’s might are on display everywhere, from banners to shields to enormous shark skulls and other sea creatures you couldn’t begin to guess at. A regal orc woman decked out in luxurious furs and donning a four horned crown, (her own making it seem like six in fact,) reclines on the throne as you enter.

Her skin is the same rich jade as Imtura’s. There’s something in the tusks, in their builds you can mark as their blood. Her hair is silver in one long braid swept over one shoulder, her clothing a bright turquoise like cape adorning her attire.

“Well now, what have we here?” She asks, her tone not unpleasant. 

“Your most royal Majesty,” Mal sweeps forward to take center stage without hesitation, even ducking into a graceful bow. “Please, allow me to introduce myself. I’m Mal, an adventurer of some considerable renown-”

“A pickpocket?” She sounds amused, like a little kid is showing off their doodle in the dirt to her. “Really Immy? I thought even you had better taste.”

‘Immy?’ You mouth, unable to imagine a more undignified nickname for someone of Imtura’s stature.

“Mother, please,” Imtura very obviously agrees, there’s long suffering dread in her voice being here, addressing her. The unwavering spine on her she’d strutted about her ship has vanished, she can’t seem to look upon anything in the room for more than a second without flinching away.

“And look!” The queen continues, unperturbed. “A priestess in training, am I right? You’re quite a ways from the Temple of Light, little lamb.”

“Oh!” Nia seems flustered at being so specifically addressed, but to her credit, she doesn't shy behind anybody, but straightens her back and puts on that smile. More practiced than you’re used to seeing of late, but as warm and welcoming as ever. “I’m on important temple business, actually. I was on my pilgrimage when-”

“Don’t care,” Ventra Tal Kaelen has already turned away. “And how about the two elfings? Eh, looks like your lot has decided to crawl out of your gilded caves for a spell?”

Tyril’s voice is right back to that haughty, demeaning sneer you’d been introduced to. “You have no right to speak to the heir to House Starfury in such a way. I demand you respect-”

Ventra waves a hand dismissively, her gaze landing on you with vaguely more interest all of a sudden. She tips her head, a mixture of intrigue and amusement. “You know, I don’t know what to make of you.”

She takes in your attire, and you think you see a spark of approval in her gaze. “Though I do suppose you look the part to be seen in my court, unlike your companions.”

“In that case, I hope you’ll hear me out.” You keep your tone as polite as Nia’s, but as stern as Tyril’s, hoping some mixture of the two would finally get through to her to stop bruising this off. “We’re here on important business. Urgent.”

“Hah!” She tosses her head with a haughty laugh. It is somehow so different from Imtura’s, so much more controlled and tight, it makes you want to jump. “An elf, an outsider in Flotillin clothing, daring to speak to the queen with such boldness. I’m intrigued. Who are you?”

“Someone with more decency than you,” the snide comment has slid off your tongue before you can think better of it. Perhaps you’d been accidentally spending more time with Mal than you’d thought. You don’t back down though, crossing your arms and planting your feet in what you hope is a show of orcish stubbornness that would seem the style. “What gives you the right to show my companions so little respect? In Riverbend we were taught to treat strangers-”

“Riverbend!” The mocking, jovial laughter has never made you feel so small. A part of you is shocked she even knows where that is to laugh at. “Oh, young wanderer, you have come far, far from home. In Flotilla, respect goes to the queen.”

“Well,” you quickly bolster yourself back now, knowing to do otherwise would just be seen as weakness. “It doesn’t work that way with me. You’ve gotta earn my respect. And so far, you’re doing a pretty crummy job.”

“Err, Syrum, maybe let’s not dig our own graves-” Mal, of all people, is trying to gently caution you.

Maybe you over did it a bit.

But Ventra just laughs. “Aren’t you darling!” She spears her daughter with a glare. “Now, what I want to know is why you’re dragging these poor bedraggled souls through my gates, Immy?”

Imtura hesitates and you step in front of her, earning yourself the full force of Ventra’s glare. “We came to you with a purpose. The fate of the world lies in the balance.”

“Oh, this should be good. Do go on, little one,” you do seem to have earned some measly bit of respect. Behind you, you can’t imagine how Imtura feels, but you’re suddenly feeling taller than you ever have as you straighten your spine and continue. 

“The Shadow Court is escaping their banishment and breaking into the mortal realm. We need the Onyx Shards to prevent them from crossing over, and to rescue my brother.” You give your satchel a now unconscious squeeze on the strap, drawing whatever little reassurance you ever can glean from its weight.

“We heard that your forces took the Onyx Shard when they raided the library at Port Parnassus.” Tyril agrees, dignity still in his voice he’d been denied. “We came here to retrieve it.”

Ventra snorts, slapping a hand against her thigh. It’s all you can do not to flinch at the echoing noise it creates in the room as you imagine her fist punching through anything it pleases with that kind of force. “You thought I’d keep something so dangerous right here, in the heart of my capital? We took the Shard, all right. And the moment I realized what the damned thing was, I sent it away.” Your heart hasn’t a moment to celebrate and lift in joy before its sinking to the sunken hells as you continue to watch her in utter devastation, the indifference on her face painful. “I tasked a crew with taking it to a remote island far to the west to bury it and make sure no one could recover it. The trouble is, they never returned…”

“Do you know what island it was sent to? We could go get it-” You quickly leap to offer.

You don’t even get the chance to finish, of course, before the queen is brushing you aside. “And why would I let any of you claim the Shard I went to such lengths to hide?”

Mal barely has time to utter under his breath, “oh, she shouldn’t have said that-”

Before you feel as if the words are bursting from your lungs for all the world to hear, “I’m not giving up on Kade! He’s my brother! And he’s been trapped in the Realm of Shadow for days, facing who knows what!” You force yourself to take a breath, but your voice sounds no less ragged. “There must be someone you’d go to any length to protect. Your daughter, maybe? Or are you really that heartless?”

“Hmph, a touching speech,” you can’t tell if she really means it. Her face, her eyes, something of her demeanor is to unknown to you. It strikes you she is the first royal you’ve ever been on the same stretch of ground as…assuming Tyril doesn’t count? Do elves have kings? You hadn’t asked yet- “I’m certain the location is documented on a map in the Royal Archives somewhere. But I still don’t see why I shouldn’t just lock you all up.” Yeah, this conversation is far more important to pay attention to.

“Mother, please!” Imtura has stepped up beside you, shoulders straight once more. “They’re here as my guests! They helped save my ship and my life from the grobtars!”

“Got in over your head, did you, girl?” She didn’t bat an eye at such news. “I warned you it was bound to happen. You wanted to run off and play at being a pirate, but you couldn’t handle it. You aren't ready.” 

“I’m doing just fine! I’ve brought in plenty of bounty-”

Imtura’s outrage goes unheard over the queen. “If it’s bounty I wanted, I have an entire army at my command. I say the word, and they bring me the sun itself.” It’s really not helping this serious situation your mind instantly diverts into wondering just how that would work tucking such a thing into the cargo hold. “What I need is an heir. Someone reliable. Someone I can trust to carry on my legacy. Clearly you are far from being ready to rule, what with your silly notions about freedom and the high seas.”

 She’s finally risen from her seat, and now it’s Imtura’s turn to step in front of you, keeping her focus, her voice pleading but no less lofty with her blood. “They aren’t silly notions. It’s what I want. To be in control of my life, not just in your shadow-”

“But there is still time for you to learn the ways of the crown. And learn you shall.” Ventra’s voice is cold and flat as the harshest winter.

There’s something in her deep voice that echoes a warning you somehow instinctively know won’t go well. You don’t care as you side step to be seen. “But, she just said she doesn’t want to-” 

“Silence!” The queen’s voice rings through the chamber. She takes a steading breath, then smiles, sinking back into her chair. “Now then. Since you did save my foolish daughter from a cowardly death at sea, I shall kindly permit you to reside in Flotilla for one night. And one night only.”

“Your most esteemed personage is indeed fair and judicious,” Mal’s tone is sweet as elf-wine. “A wise and savvy ruler if ever I’ve seen one. Now, if we could also get a ship-”

“Don’t push your luck, pickpocket,” she snorts, smirks even. “Immy, take these sorry landrats to an inn and see to it they’re on their way in the morning, ship or not.”

You have the unpleasant idea there is a gangplank in this place into the open ocean and they’re not afraid to use it no matter what’s at the bottom. 

With a flick of her fingers, Ventra Tal Kaelen dismisses you all. 

You walk together out of the throne room in silence, and once you’re a few streets away, Imtura lets out a frustrated growl and drives her fist into a post. “Grah! Who in the sunken hells does she think she is to talk to me that way? ‘Immy,’ this, ‘Immy’ that! Like I’m still a mewling whelp!”

OR BOLAS OR

“You should have stood up for yourself,” you can’t help but say, hoping you sound more encouraging than like a mewling whelp too. “As long as you act like you’re doing something shameful or rebellious, your mother’s going to treat you like a little kid. You shouldn’t hide from her. Sail into Flotilla like you own the place! You’re a damn fine captain, and you know it.”

“I just wish she would see it,” Imtura clearly hasn’t taken your words to heart, her eyes on the vast sky above, yet you can’t find a trace of anger in her either as if you’d overstepped. “She’s too busy focusing on whether or not I’m a suitable princess to see where my real talents are.”

“Then you’ve just gotta make enough of a name for yourself that even she can’t ignore it,” you offer. You can feel the weight of your own words in the air. You know intricately what you speak of. 

Imtura turns to you, her golden-green eyes looking at you like she’s seeing you for the first time. “Thanks, Syrum.” You feel yet another shoot of joy straight to your jolting heart at her saying your name.

Oh gods, you’ve got it bad. And it was just as pathetic and useless as the first time. 

OR BOLAS OR

“You should have told us who you are,” you sigh. It would have been nice not to be blindsided with that information. 

“And what good would that have done?” She snaps. It’s entirely intimidating with those flashing, sharp tusks sinking into her upper lip as ready to gouge you out as her fists. 

“Well,” you shrug as calmly as ever in the face of her wrath as much as the queens. Maybe you have a death wish. “If we’d known you were the queen's daughter, we could’ve asked you the best way to talk to her, at least.”

“Ha!” Her derisive laughs makes you feel like the ignorant kit you are. “There’s no right way to talk to my mother. She only hears what she wants to hear. And, well, I didn’t want you to think I’d only gotten to where I am because of who my mother is.” There’s something strange in her voice as she glowers at you, just you.

You tip your head to the side in utter confusion for it. “You’re obviously a talented captain. Let that speak for itself.”

Imtura’s glower smooths out, studying you right back. Her golden-green eyes rest upon you like she’s seeing you for the first time. “Thanks, Syrum.” You feel yet another shoot of joy straight to your jolting heart at her saying your name.

Oh gods, you’ve got it bad. And it was just as pathetic and useless as the first time. 

“Not to interrupt this tender moment,” Mal says with all the subtlety of a dancing child clearly intent on interrupting for all attention. “But your mother mentioned an inn? I haven’t eaten since morning and I’m mighty hungry.”

“I suppose I could take you somewhere. Show you a real feast,” she still hasn’t looked away from you, not really, though her posture’s relaxed, as if she is addressing your group at large again.

“Yes please!” Threep is the first to agree with pure delight. “Thatthatthat!” He’s kneading his little paws into Nia’s arm with the same sort of utter hoarding of attention in his voice Mal so easily weaponizes. 

“I somehow imagined nespers would be more, majestic,” Tyril mutters none so quietly. You snort in pure agreement and reach over to give the little pup-kitten an agreeable scratch on the head as he ignores you all, keeping his eyes on Imtura as if she were dangling a bag of fish already.

“Life’s just a series of disappointments, ain’t it Blue?” Mal chuckles, slapping his hand good-naturedly on Tyril’s armored chest. It makes a loud clanging noise as a ring on his finger echoes off, and Tyril’s look of unimpressed dignity looks cemented in place. Giggling together, you and Nia depart after Imtura turning away.

She leads you up and down the uneven avenues of Flotilla, across rigging, decks, and haphazardly stacked crates. She stops outside a raucous establishment. “Here we are. The Sailor’s Lament. Best grub you’ll find in the realms.” She sounds more relaxed now that she’s put some distance in, much like she did aboard her own ship. Confident and happy to be walking in the thick salt of the air. You don’t bother to hide your smile of anticipation at such an introduction.

“I’ll take that challenge!” Mal’s quick to step inside without further ado. You consider putting a gentle arm over Nia’s shoulders, but there’s not a hint of fear in her stride following Mal the second time into a place like this.

The inn bustles with patrons. It’s as loud as raucous as Vantissa’s once was, it’s easy to see where she got the inspiration for her decor. Thick firs cover the benches and chairs, and succulent meats roast on a spit over a roaring fire. Imtura calls out to the bartender. “A round of ale and a Fisherman’s Feast for my friends!” 

You can’t help but startle at her casual use of the word. So few people had ever called you friend before… now here was someone you’d just met today already joining in the ranks? And you felt, good about it. Really good.

She guides you over to a corner table, with Nia sitting between the two boys, so you slide in eagerly beside Imtura. No sooner have you sat down than a waiter appears with a pitcher of ale and a massive tray piled with savory roasted octopus, chargrilled meat stuffed with sea berries, and fried fish heads. It looks absolutely delicious!

“This mates, is a real orcish feast. The trick is to suck the meat right out of the fish's heads, like so,” her demonstration is as elegant as it is loud. Her slurp makes something inside of you clench that makes you glad you were sitting down.

“Gotta tell you, Immy, you’re my kind of princess,” Mal, the ever magnificent blabbermouth, has clearly not realized he’s crossed a line.

Imtura sets that straight real quick. “Call me Immy again, and it’ll be your head I’m eating out of.”

Mal grabs up an octopus sucker without further ado and chows down. Only because of your time together now do you vaguely understand through his smirk and wishing for those tongumelters that he’s trying in his poor way to apologize by just, changing the subject. 

The rest of your party digs in. You, Mal, and Nia waste no time taking to the new-ish cuisine. Really, only the spices they use are what makes it foreign to you at least, but it’s delicious and truly reminds you of home. Threep’s pulled a fish head beneath the table to munch on, but Tyril is more cautious. “This is all a bit, more, pungent than what I’m used to.” He’s delicately poking a sea berrie stuffed inside something’s turtle-like beak. You resist the urge to reach over and pluck it all up for yourself.

A wave of sadness washes over you, yet again reminded just how much you’d once wanted to be like him. Not devouring seafood at the mere sight of it? Inconceivable. What did they eat in Undermount?!

“That could be Flotilla’s motto,” Imtura roars with laughter. “Anything worth doing is worth overdoing!”

“I’ll toast to that!” Mal cheers, raising his glass and clearly acting on it with sloshing ale going down his chin.

It is truly a feast like nothing you’d never experience in your life. The extravagance of the food coming in endless plates any time you see the bottom was nothing you’d ever come close to encountering. Never in your wildest dreams did you think something as simple as having a full belly and still eyeing the leftovers could make you feel so, rich. In life, in coin. There was just one person missing.

As your chewing slows down and night starts to fall outside, you lean over to Imtura. 

A shame to ruin such a mood, but you give yourself a mental slap and shove away another barnacle in that savory sauce. “So, according to your mother, if we want the Shard, we’ll have to go to the, Royal Archives?”

“Heh, just one word of warning, Skullcrusher.” Imtura’s smile is friendly and not quite mocking. But still, you sense a joke at your expense. 

“I don’t like that word at all!” Threep says from on top of your feet, still furiously licking his bone now that the marrow had been cleaned out.

“What’s it supposed to mean,” Nia’s clearly agreeing with the cat-bat it could only mean trouble.

“You’ll just have to wait to find out for yourself when you try to get inside,” Imtura chuckles, still knocking back snail-crabs by the pound in between conversation. 

“You aren’t coming with us?” You ask, not sure why you’re so shocked, but very aware and choosing to ignore why you’re disappointed at this rate. 

“Oh, not a chance,” she laughs again, a noise that still carries in the lively room. “I’d much rather sit back and watch you try. I could use the laugh.”

“ You don’t want to embarrass yourself in front of me,” you accuse. Something of this would be a challenge, of this you're confident. It stood to reason, everything in this orc village was some sort of challenge.

“Hah!” Imtura’s leaned towards you, the smell of brine, shellfish, and sea in her breath as invigorating as that first whiff of air you’d taken back in Port Parnassus. “First off, I don’t get embarrassed.” That you already know not to be true. She was clearly far from bragging about her princess status. “And second off, why should I care what you think?”

Another challenge in her voice, one you’re prepared to answer. “Because you kind of like us.” There’s a sing-song quality to your voice. You really haven’t drunken enough to be so giddy at having her undivided attention.

“What in the seven seas are you talking about?” She looks actually shocked at this too, as if this were the last answer she’d suspected you could give. 

“Oh come on,” you wave a waggling fin of unknown origin still dripping in juices between you two. “You act all tough, but you didn’t have to bring us here. You could've just left us in the ocean, or even outside that throne room! If you want my opinion, I think you’re lonely.”

Imtura scoffs as mightily as everything else she does, like a break of wind powerful enough to turn a whole ship…but her gaze lands warmly on you and she isn’t able to bite back a smile. “Psh, you’re just messing with me. I’ll get you your damn map if you quit spouting nonsense.”

You just smile back knowingly. Of all the ways she could have answered; rounding off her crew mates, boasting she didn’t need or want company. To your ears, that hadn’t been a no.

She gets up to go, then stops. Your heart is thundering painfully in your chest as she eyes you. Just you. You couldn’t guess what your friends have been doing the past five minutes. “You know Syrum, if you wanted, you could come with me.”

“Seriously?” The uneaten fin you’d been planning to wrap up and save slipped from your fingers, now a treat for Threep on the ground who happily pounces.

“If you’re game.” She shrugs, as if uncaring at the answer either way. You believe her of that, at least. She’s not like Mal, hiding something behind jokes and sarcasm. Despite her initial, and understandable deception of her birth, there’s something so, honest about her. “I’ll even introduce you to a taste of the Flotillan nightlife along the way.”

‘It’s not a date!’ Your brain screams at you to get a grip. But there is not a second of hesitation in you as you leap to your feet and agree, knee knocking against the bench. Good holy gods, you are pathetic.

Her smile only grows as you agree on the spot. “That’s what I’m talking about! Let’s get outta here.”

           *You better have our boy back at a decent time Imtura!" Mal calls to their retreating forms.

Syrum flashes Mal a look of murderous horror, if anyone could threaten to kill him while dying of embarrassment while doing it, the kit was trying his level best as they exited.

”So, that just happened,” Mal snorts into his food. It clearly ruined whatever little appetite Tyril had been trying to foster as he pushes the last of his first dish away. There’s a tightness about his face Mal does not appreciate seeing as Syrum eagerly takes off with Imtura.

“Thank you for not teasing him Mal,” Nia says swiftly, she’s smiling after the pair. “Too much,” she chuckles in conclusion. 

“I would never, young love is to be encouraged!” Mal says grandly. “If you’d like a date as well Nia, I’m sure there’s a strapping young orc around here-”

“No, no,” Nia says hastily, blushing to the roots of her hair. 

“Fair enough, poor Syrum’s probably going to be eaten alive as it is, and not in the fun way,” Mal shrugs. He is looking around the room with his own interest, but seems ultimately to decide against it as he stretches and turns back to talking to her.

Mercifully, Nia's far to innocent to understand the jib as she plucks up another oyster and switches the topic back to exotic animals they'd run away from. The moose-orca tale he was trying to convince her as being real was actually starting to make her believe him by the end of the hour.

              Tyril does not join in, but he doesn't leave either as his eyes remain on the door… 

Imtura escorts you out of the tavern and back onto the convoluted streets of Flotilla. The lanterns on the ships dance like the glow of fea fish in the dark. “I can hardly believe I’m seeing this with my own two eyes! Flotilla’s really something else!” It’s got a sort of homeyness to it you're surprised to feel accustomed to. Despite there not being a human in sight, it’s got the same feel of a village with bustling people this way and that, doing chores, shouting familiarities to each other. Children run and play, some are clearly shop owners. A huge community, happy to be around each other in their everyday lives.

“Don’t get too impressed yet,” Imtura shakes her head. “You haven't seen the half of it.”

She’s meandering on down the path, and you’re following along in stride, surprised how easy it is to be in step with her. Imtura points out the biggest ships, and the sounds of parties raging within. “Ah, here we go!”

Up ahead, the party has spilled out of a behemoth of a ship and onto its deck. Drums and horns create a pulsing rhythm in the night air, and orcs dance in the light of swinging lanterns. You don’t think it's just the strange new people that make it seem more raucous than ol’  Russlbey’s bar had ever gotten as you watch their foreign movements. “Now this is a party. We don’t have anything like this in Riverbend.”

Before Imtura can respond, one of her pirates dance out of the crowd. It’s the brute who’d harassed Nia, and saved your life. “Imtura! You got away from your mother in one piece!” 

“Damn right,” she’s thrown her shoulders back, laughing like it wasn’t an ordeal at all. You wonder who she’s trying to convince, herself, or him. “But what happened to swabbing the deck, eh, Kraglin?”

“Got Marglin to do it captain,” he chuckles. “You know I wouldn’t miss out on a Flotillan party. Belana’s here too!”

He yanks another one of Imtura’s pirates out of the crowd. The girl stammers when she sees Imtura. It’s the other one you dealt with personally, she doesn’t seem any less small among her own kind. “C-Captain! Permission to partake in the festivities?”

You feel a well of pity for her, you know that feeling all too well. You were currently living in it.

“Permission granted, scrubbie,” Imtura nods her head in a mock regal showing you just know she’s perfected and twisted from her mother. “I’m not gonna chew you out for having some fun!” She turns her gaze on you, eyes twinkling in mischief. “And speaking of fun…”

She grabs your arm and tugs you into the throng, shoving aside bodies until you’re surrounded by orcs dancing and shouting at the top of their lungs. 

“YEAHHHH! THE MUSIC’S IN MY BLOOD!” The very guard who escorted you to Ventra is among the rowdy crowd.

“This is, intense!” You admit, swaying along to the beat enough you aren’t being trampled. It’s your only choice of survival really. You feel like a very tiny fish in a the sea of orcs…but it’s also nothing new to know you are one among many.

“Don’t let it sweep you under! Ride the wave Syrum! Feel the music!” Imtura’s clearly leading by example, a siren all her own as she steers the crowd from her wild movements and laughter that everybody in her radius follows.

You feel the thrum of the horns and the pounding of the drums in your bones, and your body responds in kind, moving faster to the beat. Soon you’re jumping along with everyone else! For the first time among them, you don’t feel small. You feel as a part of them as Belana.

“C’mon landrat, show us what they teach you back in Riverbend!” Imtura calls, not to far away somehow, her swaying hips constantly tossing herself to the edge and back again in a mesmerizing circle.

A spark of something possesses you, one you know all to well where it came from. “Time to show you a new tune!”

You weave your way through the crowd and stop in front of the live band. The drummer steps aside with a nod when you ask. You bang the mallet against the massive drum, and a deep boom reverberates over the party. You start up a rhythm, and the orcs begin to notice the new beat. 

“LOUDER LANDRAT!” The guard’s voice isn’t close to running out as he shouts into the heavens. 

“You got it!” You laugh in delight and hammer on, working up a sweat and letting out a whoop as all the orcs jump and shout along. After you’re done, you stagger back to Imtura, your bones thrumming, the music indeed in your blood. 

“You just got the whole party dancing to a new tune Syrum. That’s no mean feat,” she’s gasping for breath and brushing impatiently at strands of hair sticking to her forehead and tangling around her horns. There’s droplets of sweat glistening right above her lips, and lingering along all her visible curves that aren’t hidden in her loose clothing.

You swipe the back of your own hand across your lip nervously. “If you all liked that, you should come party in Riverbend then. Kade can show you an even better time.” Then you laugh at your own absurd statement and give your satchel an unconscious pat at what you just promised your brother could get up to, and still have full confidence he’d succeed. 

When you and Imtura have danced yourselves breathless, you extricate yourselves from the crowd of orcs and make your way along the docks again, the energy in the air charged between you more than ever. As the sounds of the party grow fainter, Imtura lets out a sigh, smiling wide up at the night sky as she holds the majority of her hair in one hand and fans her neck. “I’ve got to say landrat, you’re, you’re not all bad.”

“Is that the nicest compliment you’ve got? Not all bad?” You bat your eyes in a ridiculous display. It’s not as if she has a free fruit to give you. 

“I’ve got nicer,” she grins along. “I’ll save them for when I really like you.”

“Fair trade,” you nod, feeling euphoric at the prospect.

Together, you walk back into the city. Imtura’s looking all about herself, then at you with interest. “There’s always so much life in Flotilla. Always something happening.”

“Do you miss it while you’re at sea?” You ask, wondering if it’s anything like how you feel for Riverbend.

Imtura glances at you sideways, her mouth twisting. “Honestly? Aye. My crew’s like family now, but sometimes family means you don’t always get along. I like being able to get lost in the crowd here, not having to answer to anyone or give orders. That’s exactly why I don’t want to be queen. Giving orders would become my life, and that’s just, ugh!” Her powerful vocal cords ring that statement home, echoing to your ears as if she’d punched the emotion right into you. 

“It’s like you’re trying to juggle two lives,” you agree, saying that out loud finally putting some sort of perspective into the tight rope you’d been walking for so long, you didn’t know when you started. Grieving Kade, but continuing to live without him…

“Aye, it feels that way sometimes. A lot of the time, actually,” Imtura says, struggling to swallow for a moment.

OR BOLAS OR

“You’ll be able to find a balance,” you hope you’re reassuring her as much as yourself. “It’s not always easy trying to reconcile who we are now with who we were, or who we want to be. It takes time to figure it all out.”

“It’s taken me time to figure out what you just said,” Imtura rolls her eyes.

You elbow Imtura in the side. “You’re a pirate captain, but you're also royalty from Flotilla, and that’s important to you, so you should hold on to it.”

“I feel like that’s the whole problem!” She huffs as if you’re speaking in riddles. “I hold on to this place, but when I come back, I can only handle so much.”

“So then, it’s a matter of finding what parts of Flotilla you want to hold onto,” you agree. “For me, when it comes to Riverbend, it’s home, but not really a place I belong. It’s where I grew up, but not where I have to spend my whole life.” Gods willing, that hurt to say, but, it was the truth.

“Huh,” Imtura grunted in agreement. 

As you round a corner, you catch sight of a strange metal-hulled ship that seems to plunge deep into the water. 

OR BOLAS OR

“You might have to let one of them go,” you say gently, regret constricting your voice for the advice she probably doesn’t want to hear, but someone needs to say it out loud. You clutch your bag painfully tight and tell yourself it’s just to help her… you’ve got to keep managing both… 

“What are you trying to say?” She clearly doesn’t want to hear it anymore than you want to say it. 

“I’m saying if coming back here means you always need to listen to your mother belittling you and trying to change you into something you’re not, maybe this palace does more bad than good for you.” You weren’t even sure where this was coming from except some small part of your past you’d never wanted to look deeper into. The humans in Riverbend had never treated you poorly, or other… but there had been a distinct lack of effort to make you feel included either. Even now, you knew you were just kidding yourself you could get Kade free and go back home as if nothing had happened.

“But the time’s not all bad here,” Imtura sounds adamant about this at least. “And I grew up here. Can I really let that go?”

‘You’re asking me?’ You want to laugh. “I guess the question is which one matters to you more? Flotilla, or the open ocean? Which one can’t you live without?” It wasn’t so easy for you…the option’s felt more like Kade, or the rest of the world…

Imtura smiles sadly. “There’s nothing like the freedom of the currents and the eastern wind carrying me off to new adventures, that’s what I really live for.” There’s a fervor in her voice you’d heard in your own all your life. “Thanks for the advice, Syrum. I’ll think on this, once I’m back on the seas.”

“Happy to help,” you nod, hoping you’d helped yourself just as much at least in some small way work this out. But you tried to shelve it away too, a problem you were festering over long before you were forced into a solution. As you round a corner, you catch sight of a strange metal-hulled ship that seems to plunge deep into the water. 

“Ahh, here we are. The Royal Archives!” Imtura makes a grand sweeping gesture purely for your benefit you assume. You follow her down a winding staircase lined with strange artifacts nestled in alcoves. It reminds you disturbingly of the Temple of Ellara, and you try to convince yourself not to start hyperventilating. It was just another library, you were here for a good cause. At long last you reach the bottom, and the main archives room sprawls before you. 

Bowed glass windows offer a view of the glittering ocean depths, where a school of fish drift past, their scales glinting like stars. The rest of the room is an endless chamber of shelves, small, controlled fires flicker with magic over open scrolls aged as long ago as time. “This here is just a small taste of my mother’s prized plunder,” Imtura sounds quite proud. No matter what she says about not wanting to rule herself, there’s clearly some admiration for her mother mixed in there all the same. 

“There is, so much,” you are gaping. “Some of these things have to be ancient.”

“Oh aye,” Imtura chuckles. “We only raid the finest establishments. Have been for centuries. But down to business Syrum. Are you ready to face, the Skullcrusher?”

You hadn’t forgotten about this part, but you were now more grateful than ever you’d invested Imtura into this rather than trying to go it alone. “Errr, maybe you could tell me more about-” 

Suddenly, a massive orc appears before you, slipping right from behind one of the shelves like she’d popped right out of a page.

Her skin is more of the blue-green of the ocean, her skirt a brilliant turquoise helping to enhance one shade over the other. She is easily eight feet tall, with orange hair tied up in a practical bun. Her tusks are massive, nearly reaching her nose from the bottom of her jaw, making her glasses perched on her nose seem dainty. Her horns appear to start a dull silver and then ripple black into darkness behind her head. Like all orcs you’d seen, she’s studded out in sturdy leathers adorned with spikes and furs, hers seem thinner than most, only a corset like thing across her chest with some fascinating pattern in the middle of twisting figure eights. 

“Who, are you?” You ask politely, trying to keep a squeak out of your voice for literally having to bend your head back to meet her light brown eyes. 

“Lookin’s free, kid, but everything else will cost ya,” she says with a completely straight, no nonsense face. 

Imtura slaps the woman on the back, laughing heartily. This new orc is a good two heads taller than her, with biceps like tree trunks. “How’ve you been, Skullcrushcher?”

“Never better,” she gives Imtura a warmer, friendly smile and slaps her back in kind. “Your ma brought me a full hold of records from the Deician Age. I’ve been sorting them for weeks. The real question is, what are you doing here?”

It doesn’t take a genius to work out she’s directed her attention back at you, as stoic as ever. 

Imtura slides in front of you. “Ah, yes, I have just a small favor to ask, really-”

“There’s no checking out items from the collection. No exceptions. You know why,” her voice had already started a bit deep, and got deeper and more menacing at Imtura clearly trying to flaunt a rule. You’re surprised not to see a stick in her hand ready to lash a kid like some of the traveling scholars have when their charges got out of hand. 

“That was one time!” Imtura yelps, sounding more your age by the moment. “Years ago! And it dried out eventually!” 

It takes a great deal of self-control not to snort with laughter as you vaguely piece together a story.

Skullcrusher looks you up and down, easily keeping an eye on you behind Imtura, her sharp teeth jutting from her lips on both sides in a displeased frown. “Well, out with it. What do you want?”

“A map,” you say hastily, in case that stick was just out of sight. “We need it for my brother’s sake.”

“Psh,” her dismissive hiss of air rankles you, now as angry as she clearly is displeased. “You think I care about some kid I don’t know?”

You force yourself to remain calm and plead your case, “this map may be the only way to save his life. We’re not trying to take any of your records, I promise. I just need one map. To save one life, possibly many others,” you quickly tack on. Probably should have led with that, the sake of the world was kind of on the line too.

“Sounds like a bucket of chum kid,” she scoffs again, louder than ever. 

Scrambling, you try backpedaling and offer that solution instead. “For history’s sake, then. We’re after a legendary artifact. Super rare, just think of all the legacy to be gained from it if we can find it. With this map, you’ll be aiding the Temple of Light too. Imagine all the records they could share with you if we told them you aided us.”

“Bah,” she is clearly just as unimpressed the second time. “Humans. They’d never work with an archivist like me.”

“I know what we can do for you in exchange,” Imtura’s shifted her weight, still easily holding attention here with a confident smile. She flexes one bicep as she wiggles her eyebrows. Skullcrusher crosses her arms, unamused.

You, on the other hand, are very interested where this conversation is going as you shamelessly watch her muscles ripple in place in front of your face. This close, you see a faint spackle of orange deep in her skin and wonder if all orcs have that, or if its some approximation of to much sun-

“I said no rematches,” you have a bad feeling it would take more than a determined elephant-donkey to get Sullcrusher to change her mind.

“You’re just scared to lose your position as reigning champion,” Imtura shrugs, exuding confidence. “You’d rather run away from a challenge than face defeat. You beat me, you keep the map and we don’t complain. I beat you, you give us the map and don’t tell a soul.” 

A very small part of you is abundantly pleased with yourself you’d been right, there was a challenge down the line back at dinner. The rest of you is flagging in horror as you look between the two women. Skullcrusher could knock your skull out of your head with one swing of her hand, her parents had named her well. Imtura, as beautiful and powerful as she was, really might have bitten off more than even she could chew in that sharp jaw.

“You drive a hard bargain, Princess,” Skullcruhser laughs. You watch Imtura grit her teeth at such a thing and know without a doubt, this just got personal rather than some favor to you. “All right. You’re on.”

“Is this, the Skullcrushing?” You ask, feeling close to faint. There was way to much riding on this wager all of a sudden. Maybe you should have at least considered a plan with Mal on stealing this-

“Ha!” Imtura hasn’t lost a drop of amusement. “While she might’ve shattered some heads in her day, around here, we settle things with some arm wrestling!” She throws herself down opposite Skullcrasher at the nearest table and scatters papers out of her way with just her landing for a clear place, then crooks her elbow on the table. She grips Skullcrusher’s fist in her own and they grin at each other. 

“On my count.” Skullcrusher chuckles, Imtura’s hand in hers looks as dainty as Nia’s once had in Scholar Vashs. You have a horrible feeling this might end with Imtura's arm being ripped clean off. “Three, two, one-

As the game begins, you are not surprised to see Imtura is holding her own, bracing herself and not losing that smile. Teeth bared, Skullcrusher starts easily getting her weight in though, pushing Imtura’s hand down! She swears, growling, her biceps bulging. You can’t help but want to do something, anything- 

You yell at the top of your lungs, “Whoa! Is that rat-cat supposed to be eating all those scrolls?”

“What? Where?!” It works. She spins around, stunned, and Imtura slams her hand down into the table.

“Ha! Hahahaah, I win!” Imtura is radiant, the whole room might as well be shaking with her.

“But, I-” Skullcrusher looks from her hand planted on the table, to her former student, to you with a flare of outrage. “That’s cheating!” 

“No rules against distractions and you know it,” Imtura says in an impressive sing-song voice you can’t help but feel she stole from you earlier. Fair was more than fair here as you grin. “I, won. We’ll be taking that map now, mate. Should be from about two years ago, my mother sent a crew out with, ‘sensitive cargo.’” 

“I know just the one you’re talking about,” she agrees, still rather displeased as her hard looks flash between you two. “I’ll go fetch it.” 

You exchange a kindred smile, stunned to realize you’re finally a bit taller than her as she remains sitting. Her legs spread out casually, still laughing and relaxing so far back in her seat she might tip over on drunken joy, her chest is heaving with laughter under the leather. You want to reach out and run your hand through that beautiful hair cascading down her back, to know what those horns feel like under the tips of your fingers, or even just brush your hand against hers-

Skullcrusher’s already returning, and you lost your nerve. Imtura would probably bat you out of your skull too if you’d dared anyways. She takes the map with one last grin, and there’s some grudging respect in the archivist’s jaw as she gives a nod and hands it over without further ado and waving you both out. 

Moments later, you and Imtura are stepping back out onto the city streets with the map. The moon hangs bright overhead, and the water sparkles like a sea of stars in a glimmering show reflecting the world back.

“We did it!” You’re practically skipping along with joy, you really don’t even care how foolish you probably seem as you swing yourself around a lantern by its hinges and land again still whooping. “We actually got the map! And all we had to do was arm wrestle a librarian to get it!” 

What a story! Kade was never going to believe you!

Imtura doesn’t even bat an eye at the use of the word we, still flexing her hand and not losing that smile. “You make it sound so easy.” 

“Wasn’t it?” You’re practically giggling now, twirling on the spot on your toes and longing to jump up and hug the moon. It felt like it had been far to long since something went so irrefutably right for you. No fight for your life, no near death stunts. Just another clear step forward!

“Ask my sore arm tomorrow,” Imtura’s still laughing along with you, patting her bicep. You have the ridiculous urge to kiss her mottled skin. You have to bite your lip to resist. 

She hands you the map, hesitating for just a second before releasing it into your grasp. “Right then. We’re done here. Map’s yours, debt’s square.”

You’re stunned, and quickly scramble to remind yourself that’s all this had been to her from the start. Yet, you’re teasing her too. “Is it? I think I owe you now for showing me such a fun night.”

“You saved me from having to go on this errand alone.” She agrees. “And as far as company goes, you’re not the worst.” 

You’ve had worse compliments. “You’re not so bad either.”

“Really?” She chuckles, leaning right into your face. “I’m a ruthless pirate captain who attacked your ship.”

“And who’s got one hell of a smile.” You smile without hesitation, the entire planet could have vanished around you as you see nothing but her in the moonlight. 

For one fleeting second, Imtura actually blushes, and doesn’t pull away. 

But you do. You can’t bring yourself to act any other way at this moment. It wasn’t right. You are leaving tomorrow, and she’s made herself clear she won’t be joining you. “Seriously, thank you so much for tonight,” you say sincerely, still feeling a burn coursing through you as you don’t look away from her brilliant eyes flickering every shade of green and gold in the passing torches guttering in the wind, making her hair look like its about to join them. “For helping me forget my worries for a while, for helping me get the map. You have no idea what all that means to me.” 

Imtura clasps your shoulder with a laugh, her thumb brushing just at the collar of your vest and teasing your skin, holding you a moment longer than should be friendly before stepping away. “C’mon. We’ve got to get you back to your crew before that Mal fellow has something to say.”

You groan and thoroughly consider drowning Mal in his sleep, but brush it off with a laugh of agreement too.

Returning to the tavern inn, you see Mal the magnificent entertaining Nia, Tyril and Threep with some card tricks. “See? If you’re quick, you can slip it into your sleeve or glove, like so-”

“Because what we really need is to teach a priestess to cheat at cards,” Tyril says, his voice livid with discomfort, still pressed firmly against the wall where you’d left him. Nia’s smiling and as happy as ever at least, alternatively stroking Threep on her lap and watching with keen interest. Mal’s crossed to the other side of the table to spread himself out.

“All right, enough blabber,” Imtura’s all to happy to interrupt. “We got the map. Now let’s see where you’re going.” She spreads it out across Mal’s cards before all of you, and traces the path from Flotilla to an island marked Zephyr Cove. Tyril’s all business, leaning right back into the conversation.

 “It isn’t too far from here at all,” she nods to herself. “You should have no trouble booking safe passage.” She’s studying it so intently, as if looking for any secret clue or message or booby trap in the aged paper. You wonder what her eyes see, craggy costs and sea monster dens?

You lean over the map, pressing against her arm without a second thought, though your hand remains firmly not touching hers as you brace yourself as well and trace your finger where her’s had just been following the route. “And then we’ll be that much closer to-” 

Thunk. “AAAGH!”

A dagger embeds itself in the map, mere inches from your hand. By the time you register the noise, the scream has already passed your lips. 

Movement all around you, orcs stirring and turning, Mal and Tyril on their feet-

“There! In the doorway!” Nia shouts.

You spin toward the tavern entrance as a hooded figure flings another dagger your way. It whizzes through the air, but Imtura moves and catches it by the handle an inch from your nose. 

“RRAAGH!” Her roar of outrage shakes you to your core as she flings it back with a snarl, pinning the assassin's cloak to the wall. Their hood falls off as they struggle, revealing a familiar face. 

It’s Belana. She’s an outraged mask of anger and shadows as she makes a horrible, “hng!” noise, struggling to free herself, but the knives  embedded up to the hilt in the wall, and that sturdy cloak isn’t going anywhere.

Imtura staggers back into the table. “What- what are you-”

The assassin ducks down, slips out from the heavy material, and starts running. 

“STOP HER!” The powerful command from Imtura’s voice has every able bodied orc leaping to their feet, with your crew already scrambling after Imtura as she darts into the streets. You have to jump over several who were to drunk to participate and were still trying to by sheer instinct of that kind of order.

You're tearing through the crowds, Tyril’s sword is drawn, as is Mal’s dagger, but Belana stays just a few paces ahead of all of you. 

“I sense darkness about her!” Threep calls from Nia’s arms. “She’s been tainted by the Shadow Court!” 

A not so small part of you wants to know when exactly this had happened. Surely it must have been within the hour-

“We gotta stop her before she slips away!” Mal calls, but he’s hampered by having to weave his way between massive bodies freezing every which way at the spectacle. 

Only slowing your pace by one stride, you slip an arrow out of your quiver and notch it in place. “You know what’s scarier than having a dagger flying at your face? Having an arrow flying at your back!” 

You hope she hears. You hope she knows what’s coming as rage pounds through you as you release your weapon with expert aim, and it embeds itself into her side. The wound isn’t fatal, but it has her dropping to the ground with a scream, “AAHHHGG!” She’s still moving though, already trying her best to surge back to her feet ahead of you despite the blood pouring from her hip. 

“Good one Syrum!” Imtura isn’t even winded, her muscles are bunching and releasing in a smooth pattern. “I've got her.” She leaps forward, her sailors strength giving her the boost she needs, and tackles the assassin before she can get up. “You just made a big mistake scrubbie.” Imtura’s wrapped an arm around her throat, keeping her subdued.

The assassin writhes, but she’s helpless beneath Imtura’s impressive grip. “You’ll, never, get, the Shard-” she rasps, battering at the offending arm as effectively as Nia could. You realize too late, she’s not trying to push Imtura off, but reach for something in the folds of her clothes.

Before you can say anything, Belana jerks a hand free, whips out a dagger, and plunges it into her own throat just beneath Imtura’s wrist.

Her blood spurts over Imtura’s face as she twitches, gurgles, and dies. 

There’s not a second of horrible silence before- “No!” Nia sobs, leaping back in dread. “Why would she-”

“Because the Shadow Court doesn’t want us getting any answers out of her,” Tyril is unaffected, leaning down close to her already blank eyes. “She’s better off dead to them.” 

“That’s, sick,” Mal seems surprisingly haunted, anger broiling with the same look in Nia’s pale lips.

“I, I don’t understand Imtura.” You’re too stunned to feel anything except shock really. She’s sitting up and wiping blood from her face with a disturbingly calm expression. “I thought she was a member of your crew.” At your feet, you can again appreciate how small she seems, how young. Was she even your age yet?

“I should have felt that darkness on her sooner,” Threep bemoans, pressing himself tight into Nia, his tail curling around her arm as she trembles at the blood still leaking out among your feet, trickling between the wood in a vein like pattern. “Maybe I missed it in all the mayhem, or maybe she wasn’t corrupted yet. I, I don’t know…”

“She must've tailed us to the Archives. Damn, and I thought she was just enjoying the festivities!” Imtura slams a bloody fist against the planks, opening up a path to the watery depths below. The rope railings nearby sag at the new loss of weight, threatening to plunge this whole part of the bridge down with her anger. She viciously wipes her bloody hands on the assassin's tunic, then gets to her feet with a scowl. “Damn it all. No one tries to kill me or my mates on my turf!”

Mates echoes very faintly in the back of your head to be dissected later. 

“The Shadow Court must really not want us to get to that island,” Nia’s fighting off tears, but finally, is gingerly coming forward again, stepping respectfully around the blood until she’s circled behind so she can kneel over Belana and gently closes her eyes.

“Yeah, well, that settles it.” Imtura is looking at the other orc as well with a fire in her eyes. “If there is one thing I cannot abide, it’s someone telling me what I can’t do. If someone wants to keep me from the Onyx Shard, then by the rising tides of vengeance, we’re getting that damned thing!” 

You can hardly believe your ears. You’d already half convinced yourself she was winding up to say she was staying here permanently to help her mother with the cause. Not…”what, are you saying?”

“I’m saying you just got yourself a new godsdamn companion,” she tells you with a grim smile that still makes your heart leap like a rabbit-frog. 

[stringoflights93]

Chapter 4: Escape at Sea

“Running! Definitely running!” You easily agree with the stranger, grabbing Nia and Mal and tearing off through the darkened streets of Port Parnassus after the elf. Threep clings to your shoulder, though if his nails are digging in you can’t even feel it but for his grip, and the city guards are hot on your heels. 

“Stop! Murderers!” They scream behind you.

The elf sprints down narrow alleyways at breakneck speed, armor glinting in the moonlight the only thing you can barely track of his speed. Soon, elegant buildings turn to rough wooden tenements. You end up on a narrow road deep in the city’s slums. Suddenly, a group of guards runs around a corner ahead of you and aims their crossbows!

“Stop right there! This is your last chance!” They sound out of breath under those helmets, but their fingers are on the trigger.

“You can’t get us if you can’t see us,” you smirk. You grab two empty crates and lob them at the guards. They splinter in their faces, obscuring their view and making them stumble in place. 

“Agh! Don’t let them get away!” You hear the shouts behind you as you’re already running again.

“Too late for that,” the strange elf, your help, agrees. He sends a flare of dark energy at the guards, blasting them off their feet. As you and your companions dash past them, he nods at you. “Good thinking,” he congratulated.

You feel a swell of pride you’d love to bask in later at this awesome guy actually saying that to you. 

“Hurry!” Nia’s easily keeping you on track of the important things though. “We can hide inside here!”

You dash into an abandoned old building and run for the far well, where you crouch in the shadows with your companions. Threep flutters his wings anxiously. “As lovely as this slum is, we need to think of a more permanent solution.” He hisses quietly in your ear. 

“Shh! Someone’s coming,” Mal hisses somehow even softer. He’s got his hand up towards you and Nia to stay low against the wall, while he remains crouched in place next to the elf on either side of the doorway, blades out.

Several sets of footsteps approach, and a figure blocks out the light in the doorway. You flinch as he yells out. “Keep searching the streets! I’ll check the buildings!”

As the rest of the guards clatter away, this one takes a tentative step inside, raising his lantern high. You hold your breath, certain he can hear the thunder of your heart.

…but his light doesn’t quite reach you, and he turns and heads back out to the alleyway somehow without spotting any of you. 

You wait for the guards' shouts to fade before whirling on the elf. “So, your help is greatly appreciated and all, but who are you?”

He appraises you with mild interest, so much different than earlier. “You may call me Tyril. Of House Starfury.” He says it with a purpose in his voice as if that’s supposed to mean something to you. 

“Oh, that’s just great. A stuck-up elf noble,” Mal sneers. You’ve been on the receiving end of his distaste, but this seems even more powerful. Hopefully it was just the adrenaline rush. 

“Who just saved your hides,” Tyril frostily answers. 

“That remains to be seen!” Threep’s voice is still a guttural hiss on your shoulder, somehow mingled with his accented, dainty voice made it all the more chilling. You glance over to see his ears still pressed flat back, his tail twitching, ready to pounce. There’s a speck of blood on your shoulder where he’s punctured your shirt, but you still don’t feel it past your pounding blood in your ears.

“A nesper!” Tyril finally relaxes a barest inch as he properly appraises the wings held taught, ready for launch. “How- I thought-”

“Hey, we’re asking the questions here,” Mal firmly reminds. “What in the three hells happened back there? Have you been following us?” He’s somehow taken a cautious step between you, Nia, and Tyril, now in the center of the room, and it was hardly noticeable amidst his even, flat voice. Not a shout, not enough to bring the guards back, but a dangerous thing not to be questioned.

Tyril glares at Mal before turning his attention to his blade, studying the edge for nicks. There’s indifference back in his stature, as if addressing, well, a bunch of kits. “I’ve been hunting.” His accent is smoother and richer, he’s still loose and treating this much more casually all of a sudden, boredom making him seem more vain by the moment. “Seeking out those who’ve fallen under the influence of the Shadow Court.”

“You know about the Shadow Court?” Nia asks behind you both, craning her head around to study Tyril with far more interest than watching the door anymore. 

He gives her a look that could wither roses. “Don’t be daft.” Nia opens her mouth to snap at him, but he doesn’t give her the chance. “My hunt brought me to Port Parnassus, where I’ve been tailing this city’s mayor. He is, was, deeply corrupted.” 

“Okay,” you agree that made sense enough, though you’d love an actual description of how he was tracking such a thing, another question was much more important. “That doesn’t explain why you’re helping us.”

“Whoever said anything about helping you?” Whatever interest you might have held for a split second has vanished in his icy demeanor. “The corrupted mayor was my target, and I dealt with him. You happened to be bystanders.”

“Oh great,” you pleasantly roll your eyes. It’s a bit of a thrill to know he can see it better than the two humans could. “So I guess if you’re not helping us, you can just up and leave then. Say hi to the city guards as you’re passing by.”

“By all means, if you’d rather fend for yourselves against the Court,” he snaps, already eyeing the exit. “I’ll leave you well alone. Though it will be your heads rolling next time.”

“Why are you so hostile?” You ask, trying to modulate your tone into a more gentle thing, like approaching a wild animal caught in a snare. “All I want to know is why you stepped in when you did.” He could have easily waited until the mayor was alone while you’d all been taken away as a great diversion. “Why are you hunting the Shadow Court?” You spit out, a bit late in Nia’s defense, but it seemed like a reasonable question to you. It’s not as if this was all common knowledge!

“I don’t see why that should matter to you,” he says dryly, going back to examining his blade.

“I see every reason why it matters, since me and my friends here are being hunted by them!” You are slowly losing the thread of that not yelling thing and have to fight to wrangle your voice back down. 

“In that case, you should be grateful that I killed that corrupted mayor for you. We share a common enemy. Is that not enough?” He sounds as if he’s just asked if you’re still grateful your head is attached, as much a threat as his disinterest will allow. 

“There’s no we here until you tell us exactly what you’re after,” you firmly remind, clutching your satchel bag tighter than your bow. 

Tyril’s hand clenches around the hilt of his blade, and he lets out a long, frustrated breath. When he speaks again, his voice is still curt. “My conflict with the Shadow Court is personal. I intend to right the wrongs they have dealt me, as much as I can. That is all I will say.”

After a tense moment, Mal speaks up. He doesn’t take his eyes off Tyril, you can feel it in the shift of his stance he hasn’t let his guard down one bit. “So, this mayor who was trying to frame us as murderers, was under orders from the Shadow Court? He looked human, mostly.”

“The boundaries between our worlds are thinning, weakening. The Court uses the Shards to reach out to the greedy, the cruel, to the weak-minded. It seduces them to their will.” Tyril’s voice is as sharp as his blade, but at least it doesn’t seem directed at the three of you anymore as he’s finally answering.

“So, they could have agents everywhere,” you murmur in a daze of horror, glancing at every shadow in this room.

Tyril scowls as he resheathes his blade. “Not for long. The real request is, why is the Shadow Court after you? Who are you? And how did you come across a nesper?”

His questions prickle you like barbs, but a blossoming of hope takes hold of you. Despite Mal’s subtle shake of his head, you tell him everything, recounting your entire journey here (with a hitch in your voice, and Nia hugging herself through much of it,) and watch as his expressions grows increasingly more serious somehow. Which you wouldn’t have thought possible.

“Which brings us to where we are now,” you conclude, forcing down a heavy swallow of pain. “On a quest to recover the remaining Shards and bring them to Whitetower for purification.”

“It would seem our journeys are linked, then,” Tyril is probably as relaxed as he’ll ever get, nodding to you. There’s even a gleam of pride in his eyes as he newly appraises the three of you. It does horrible things to your already wrecked mental state as you realize you might have even impressed him. You’re so tired of people meeting you without Kade at your side. “Wherever the Shards are, those under their influence are sure to be close by.” His sharp eyes rake over you, and land on your satchel, nodding to himself in satisfaction. “I’ll accompany you on your hunt for the Shards, but I won’t let you slow me down.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Nia claps her hands together and looks moments away from hugging him. “We could use some assistance, as you probably noticed-”

“Hang on. Us, slow you down?” Mal snaps, he still hasn’t relaxed on jot either at your newest tagalong. “You’re the one murdering your way across the realms. We just want the Shards.” Something about his unwavering inclusion with you and Nia surprisingly warms your core.

Tyril’s hand rests menacingly on the hilt of his blade again. There’s a vague hint of a smile on the corner of his lip that makes you want to cringe in horror. “Those too far consumed by the Shadows’ corruption have to die. They're already husks. Puppets of darkness. I’m doing them a kindness, not that I expect you to understand that.”

You can’t help but waver between them, honestly on both their sides. There’s silence in the room, as if they’re actually waiting for your input though. 

“We need all the help we can get,” you give a weary sigh. “Nia’s right Mal, we had no idea the mayor had been corrupted until we were pinned down. Tyril knows what we’re up against. Not only is that invaluable, it’s safer.” 

“I’ll do whatever I can to aid you until the Shadow Court is dealt with, you have my word,” he inclines his head, as stiff as ever. There’s sincerity there, but it’s lacking, something.

Mal glowers at Tyril a moment longer, and you practically feel the air crackling between them, before Mal slides his gaze to you. You can practically hear his warning, unneeded, but very much appreciated in this moment.

You cross your arms and keep your voice sharp as one of your arrows as you swiftly add, “Mal isn’t wrong though. We need to be careful of who we trust. How do we know you’re not working with the Shadow Court? Trying to win our trust just to betray us when the moment's right?”...Duke Erthax had been an elf, you’ve never let that thought stray far from your mind. For all you know, your kind is the most easily corrupted. Having another elf around could be paramount to courting danger.

“I would never work for the Shadow Court,” and something of the outrage in his voice is genuine, more raw than you were expecting. You might as well have said it yourself. “But if you truly won’t take my word for it, why don’t you ask your nesper?”

“Hhhmph!” Threep has finally released you from his grasp, and is now padding back and forth across your shoulders, tail twitching. “I do have a name, you know!  But, that elf speaks truly. He’s free of the Shadow’s corruption, I sense nothing.”

You reach up and run a grateful hand along his back in gratitude, and he hums and butts his head against yours. 

“It’s your decision, Syrum,” Nia gently says, but she puts a pleading hand on your arm. “It’s your brother whose fate hangs in the balance.”

Your heart hurts, twisted and tangled with grief and doubt, but you finally nod, still vividly remembering her earlier statement about the powerful magic radiating off of him in the light of the streets. “Fine. We’re not in a position to refuse honest help. Tyril can join us.” You hope it’s not the wrong decision. You hope it’s not just a deep, burning desire you’ve carried all your life to just meet another elf that’ll be your brother's downfall.

Mal lets out a weary sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Great, team’s got one more member.” You can’t help the joy you feel that Mal’s agreeing, rather than trying to backpedal away and abandon you again. Something of this reaction, of trusting your instincts, settles something within you there was no going back from with him too. “But that'll be worth nothing if we don’t get outta town, and real quick. We’re wanted murderers now, for real. I can find us a smuggler, no problem. But for hot merchandise such as ourselves, it’s gonna take a whole lot of coin.”

He gives Nia an apologetic smile, then quickly slides his eyes to yours, before landing back on Tyril with a haughty, familiar, challenging smirk. It’s oddly comforting, the silent communication you felt passing between you.

Tyril shrugs and, with a jingling of metal, takes out a bulging pouch. Mal stares at it, entranced. He starts to reach for it, but Tyril pulls it back. 

“Yeah, like, that much coin,” Mal agrees, not bothering to hide the greed in his smirk. “Actually, if you have another pouch like that-”

“Find us safe passage out of here, scoundrel. Our lives depend on it. Surely that’s worth something, even to you.” Tyril’s voice could shatter glass as harshly as he spoke.

“We’re stuck with you, aren’t we?” Mal rolls his eyes and gives you one last displeased look. It probably isn’t just for show. You shrug helplessly.

“For now,” Tyril agrees flatly.

Mal gives him one last, leveled look that holds all the grace and confidence you’d seen him capable of while throwing that blade at Duke Erthax. There’s a threat there, something that passes between them as he takes the coins away, and gives you and Nia one last smile before departing.

To your surprise, you feel not a second of fear or hesitation that he would come back. As much as he got under your skin, you feel a prickle of tears you quickly try to breathe away at how much you actually have come to trust him.

You spend the night hiding out in the abandoned building, lying low as guards comb the streets. There’s not much more talking to be had, you’re all tense on your heels waiting for something else to go wrong. 

The next morning, when the coast is clear, Mal leads you to a rickety-looking ship on a secluded dock. An old sailor approaches. “Gerhard, you old salty cod! It’s been far too long,” Mal greets him with his usual jovial tone that made him seem everybody's friend.

“Not long enough,” Mal gets the usual reaction too. A suspicious look filled with exasperation of what he was going to pull next from the old pirate. “You aren’t bringing me more trouble, are you?” The deep growl of his voice already knew the answer. 

A real pirate. He was dressed just like you always imagined, with the tricorne hat and a red bandana peaking out beneath with bullet holes in it, thick worn leather enough to make a cow-elephant moan in pain. He had a bushy, thick gray beard pulled into a rough ponytail. There was a hint of gold around his ear in a ponytail, and he had a few missing teeth. As rugged and world weary as you’d one day hopped to be. He has a scabbard of a sword hanging from a buckle at his hip, grip well worn.

“Pffft, I would never,” Mal gives him a magnificent grin. “Just a few friends of mine in need of a safe passage on the Sun Maiden, is all.”

Gerhard’s gaze darts suspiciously from Tyril standing with his arms crossed haughtily, to you, to Nia gaping around at the ship. “Two elves, a priestess, and a cur, eh?” He spits something brown out of his mouth. “Sounds like a bad set up to a joke. Who exactly are you lot?”

“We’re not to be trifled with,” you say with all the confidence you’ve mustered over this past week. Which was quite a lot in retrospect, if his eyes narrowing on you without cracking a smile had anything to go by. You’d come a long way from Mal brushing you aside at any rate. “We’ve cracked skulls a lot tougher than yours. So I suggest you take the gold we’re offering.”

You nod at Mal, and  notice even he looks a little intimidated as he shows Gerhard a pouch filled with Tyril’s gold. You look back at the old pirate. “And stay out of our business.”

“All right, all right,” he eagerly peaks inside the offering, flapping his other hand around, trying to seem more dismissive than he really was. “Suit yourself, if you’re really that determined to board this old thing. Gold, you know, it plays tricks on the memory. Makes me forget faces. Entire conversations, even.” He lets out a raspy chuckle and spits again. “An entire ship ride, well, that takes a fair amount of it. More than a sack’s worth. But I’m sure we can come to some agreement-”

“You have your offer,” you say flatly. “The deal’s only going to get worse for you the more you haggle.” You itch to really threaten him, but it would be an empty thing, not knowing the first thing of how to get the boat on its way, let alone where you were going.

Gerhard gives a long-suffering sigh as he looks at Mal. “You really know how to pick ‘em, don’t you?” Mal gives a genial smile of no regret. “Fine, I’ll take you lot. But if they cause any trouble, it’s on you.”

Mal grimaces and hands over the heavy pouch of gold. 

“That’s more like it,” Gerhard wheezes out another laugh and gives his earnings a little triumphant rattle before safely tucking it away in an inside pocket. “To the Shimmering Isles, mates!”

“What?! We’re heading for Flotilla, not some-” Nia tries to protest.

Gerhard turns on her with a scowl. “Flotilla? The orc pirate city?! You’re out of your mind, young lady. Only a madman would head for Flotilla on purpose.”

“But that’s, where we need to go,” Nia insists, her voice getting smaller as his glower lingers on her.

“The Shimmering Isles are fine,” you say hastily, giving Nia a stern look, hoping she’d learned from other acolytes how to play along. “Really! Anything to put some distance between us and Port Parnassus.”

“What are you doing Syrum,” Nia’s getting angry herself now, crossing her arms in a very Mal like manner as she frowns at you. “Getting to Flotilla is a matter of life and death-”

“It can wait, Nia,” you say firmly. “We need to be out of this city now. We can worry about the rest later.” You give her one last look that you’d finish this conversation more privately and try to give the Captain a friendlier smile. “Sorry for the confusion.”

“Hhmph,” he grunts. “I suggest you lot get your story straight and go aboard before you get any more dung headed ideas.”

Mal ushers you onto the Sun Maiden as Gerhard and his crew prepare to cast off. He pulls you all aside and lowers his voice.

OR BOLAS OR

“We’re paying you to take us to Flotilla!” You agree, honestly unsure how that lofty sack of gold didn’t earn you passage to anywhere you pleased. “All you have to do is drop us off and be on your way. We gave you more than enough for that!”

“Last I checked, I was the captain of this ship, so the decision’s mine. No use having gold if I’m too dead to use it,” he snaps, taking a threatening step towards you. 

“You don’t understand,” Nia’s voice has changed to a gentle, pleading thing like she was trying to convince Threep to let her trim his nails. “Getting to Flotilla is a matter of life and death.”

The look the Captain gave her was pretty close to your nespers look of outrage too, as a matter of fact.

Mal steps in front of you and Nia, an anxious grin plastered to his face. “The Shimmering Isles will do just fine, Captain. We’ll make our own way from there.”

“But-” Nia yelps.

“Trust me on this, please?” Mal’s grin is tight with strain. You nod and place a hand on Nia’s shoulder despite the anger burning through you. 

“Get aboard then,” Gerhard growls. 

Mal ushers you onto the Sun Maiden as Gerhard and his crew prepare to cast off. He pulls you all aside and lowers his voice. “Here’s the deal, no captain’s going to take us to Flotilla. Fortunately, the Shimmering Isles are close by. We can take our own boat from there.”

“Couldn’t we have just bought our own boat from here with all that gold!” You ask, the urgency of this seemed to have gotten lost on him.

“We’d need more than this for a crew to get there Syrum, it’s not that simple,” Mal’s tone is surprisingly gentle and understanding, even dare you say, apologetic, and patient. 

“And I’d suggest being less open about our business from now on,” Tyril adds, his frown as severe as ever. “The Shadow Court’s agents could be everywhere.”

“You there! Stop that schooner!” A voice floats to you from the wind, making you already feel ill before the rocking of the boat had even truly begun.

“Or just your average clueless city guards,” Mal groans, running a hand down his face.

As Gerhard’s crew unfurls the sails and raises anchor, the men you’d been evading all night rush up in their gleaming armor down the docks toward the ship. You and your companions hunker out of sight low under the nearest bulky crates. You have a protective arm around Nia, and Mal's hovering in front of you with a knife out. You can barely see Tyril yourself he's blended back in so well.

“Wait!” One’s running up and waving his hand as if trying to catch the flailing string of an apron. “We need to search your ship! There are known fugitives in this city who may be looking to escape by sea!”

“Sorry lads,” Gerhard comes up to the side and gives them a merry wave, a glint of amusement in his voice making you relax already. “Just me and my crew on board. Clear skies to you.” He tips his hat and the Sun Maiden lurches forward, wind snapping into the opened sails.

As the docks of Port Parnassus began retreating into the distance, the captain walks past your hiding place and cuts his eyes toward Mal. “You’ll owe me extra for that. Have you any idea how often I need to port here without the trouble you bring?”

“I always do,” Mal smirks.

You hadn’t realized how hopped up on adrenaline you were until you take a breath and ease yourself out into the open air. Your hands are shaking, everything feels ten times more. The sharp wind stings your skin, brushing your hair into your eyes as you take your first, real look around a full blown ship. 

Riverbend had an annual challenge to see who could build the sturdiest raft and raced them across the pitiful thing you knew to be currents. You and Kade hadn’t participated very often the older you got, no real skill or knowledge of what you were doing. Watching the fathers bond with their boys hauling logs around and tying knots together had worn out your enthusiasm anyways, and Kade had long lost interest when he ran out of tails to tell that more often than not ended with you two sinking and swimming to shore. The rest of the vessels had all been low slung boats at best, usually rotting old beasts that could be capsized by the right echidnatrout if you went scoring for eggs to close to their nest.

This vessel truly was a whole new world the likes of which you couldn’t hope to imagine and compare to any longer in terms of ‘boat.’ About twenty men and women are running across the vast expanse of wood, shouting orders to each other, hauling ropes, pushing crates about and securing them down. 

It was all much louder than you would have expected too, the groaning, creaking of the wood, the ocean hissing and spraying all about you in the high winds that caught on every snap of rope and sail in sight. The way the shadows danced across the deck, the way the sailors moved with every motion in tandem like a juggler balancing on a ball without a moment of hesitation while you hung onto the railing just for a sense of steadiness. 

The Sun Maiden glides across a turquoise sea, the water unlike anything you’d imagined. It was like the whole world was consumed by blue, as the sun shone down from the cloudless sky above. You four do your best just to stay out of the way during the day, exploring the place at your leisure. The sun was a brutal, unforgiving thing as the day grew hotter. You couldn’t burn, you’d discovered at a young age, and Mal and Nia were well used to being out in the rays during their travels, but you were all getting an extra shade darker.

Nia spent her time happily trying to talk with the crew, and at least a few of them were thrilled to chat back and share tales of their travels. Mal stayed close to her, easily blending in and laughing along but keeping them from getting any ideas about sharing anything to raunchy.

You and Tyril mostly shadowed them, side-eying each other all the while. He didn’t speak, so you didn’t in turn, but he was also never subtle about it either, so neither were you as questions raced through your mind. You couldn’t help but wonder what he thought of you, and most likely it was that you didn’t live up to the standard of elves and he thought you were just a strange human with blue skin. Something about the way his mouth tightened every time you laughed with Nia and Mal he took note of every time…

He was obviously older than you, but by how much? Was he a hundred? Two hundred years old? How much magic did he know? Was he related to you?!

That question, you knew in your heart, was ridiculous, but it kept occurring to you all the same. Your parents had to be from somewhere…maybe they had siblings? Cousins? Other kids?…The universe had ripped you away from a life you couldn’t even fathom, maybe this elf who had elected to join you could be your link back…

 As night starts to fall, you and your companions head below deck.

Nia’s still looking around every which way with wide eyed excitement.  “Captain Gerhard said we can all share this stateroom! I wonder what it, looks…like?”

You all squeeze inside the cramped room. Barrels and baskets clutter the walkways between a few benches and one bunk bed.

“You’re sure you heard stateroom?” You look around in dismay, unable to move without bumping against something. “He didn’t say storage room, did he?” You can’t help but wonder where the rest of the crew sleeps, and spotting nothing but more boxes and crates and barrels in every corner, you have a feeling you’re right.

“Well, isn’t this just cozy,” Mal doesn’t seem very perturbed, already dusting off a barrel and planting himself comfortably upon it. You have a suspicion that sloshing noise inside it won’t last till morning. “Nia, Syrum, I guess you two get the bunks. Tyril and I will take the floor.”

You try to muffle the surprise that flickers across your face at the generous act. Despite his nature, he’s been nothing but chivalrous to you and Nia at minimum. Then your eyes dart to Tyril to try and discern how he’ll react.

He crosses his arms and glowers at Mal from beside a crate. “And what gives you the authority to make my decisions for me?”

“You’re saying you want to kick Nia, a priestess of the Light, off her bunk just so you can get a good night’s sleep?” Mal’s tone is all mocking jovial, but there’s a tightness around his eyes not doing much to mask his anger.

You rankle and are prepared to jump in if Mal hadn’t. You were absolutely positive it wasn’t even because of the bed, he just didn’t want to be ordered around.

Nia stops climbing halfway up the ladder to the top bunk, her face falling. “Oh, I’ll give you my bunk if you want, Tyril,” she’s instantly contrite she clearly hadn’t realized this wasn’t a done deal. “I was going to take the top because the other acolytes never let me have it, but-”

“That, wasn’t what I was saying-” Tyril’s trying to backpedal in the most poor showing you’ve yet seen of him being ungraceful. 

“Don’t worry Nia. The Light will show a scoundrel like him the error of his ways soon enough,” Mal says solemnly, but he catches your eyes and you poorly muffle a laugh at the mirth in you both.

Tyril pins Mal with a glare as sharp as his blade. “I cannot decide whether it’s you I want to throw overboard, or myself.”

“Guys, calm down,” you sigh and step between them, not really wanting either of them being tossed into the ocean at present time. “I have the perfect solution. We don’t know this crew, and so far, enemies have popped up everywhere. One of us should stay awake while the others sleep, just in case. Tyril can take first shift and switch with me when he gets tired.”

“Agreed,” you feel a surge of pride at him instantly nodding and relaxing. “It’s good to know one of you has at least a modicum of sense, and I’m more than up for the task.”

You grin back, but that instantly flags. Gods when did you get so pathetic for attention? The embarrassment doesn’t last though as you quickly, forcefully keep that smile in place.

“Uh-huh. Great idea.” Mal’s tone is pure sarcasm. “Let’s ask the new guy who’s full of secrets to protect us while we’re all unconscious.”

Threep pokes his head out of Nia’s satchel and stretches his mouth wide in a deep yawn. It still boggles your mind how his saber-like fangs fold so easily out of sight, and yet he’s still as adorable as ever. “If you don’t mind, I could use a catnap, and would much appreciate it if you would quit your squabbling.” He leaps to the top bunk, curls up, and falls right asleep.

“The nespar has spoken,” you chuckle affectionately, smiling at the engine like purrs you can hear coming from him as his tiny feet still knead in place and his wings flutter about while his tail curls up tight.

“Threep has a point you know,” Nia agrees, happily following him up and settling down herself and spreading out her skirt.

“About sleeping?” Mal snorts. “Yeah, I love it too.”

“No, about squabbling,” Nia said anxiously, looking between all three of us. “We need to work on our teamwork if we’re going to travel together. That means Mal and Tyril will have to try to get along.” She shoots you a significant look as well, but you just shrug. Whatever hesitation you'd once held about Mal was long gone, and you were the last one who wanted to start anything with Tyril. That was probably pathetically obvious.

“Don’t rain on my parade priestess,” Mal groans like a child who’d had his toy taken away.

“Hmph,” Tyril is no more amused. “I’m perfectly capable of getting along with anyone who is able to act civil.”

“Well, he’ll be useful if we run into pirates, at least. He’s even pricklier than they are.” Mal smirks.

‘They’ve known each other for five seconds and are already bickering like an old married couple,’ you mentally groan. In a quick effort to change the subject, and the not so subtle leap of your heart at the topic transition, you aren’t sure if it's excitement or terror in your voice as you demand. “Will we run into pirates? Traveling merchants in Riverbend told horror stories about them attacking ships for loot and prisoners.”

-there it was again, the way Tyril’s mouth went taught- but you’re far more interested in Mal’s answer anyways. “Syrum,” Mal gives you a friendly clap on the shoulder. “Flotilla’s basically a bunch of pirate ships lashed together, a city floating on the ocean. We’ll probably see pirates.”

That is definitely awe mixed with a healthy amount of dread coursing through you as you clutch your satchel tighter than ever with the gem inside. You’d periodically taken it out on your way to Port Parnassus, but only for a moment to check the gleaming black stone still glinted malevolently. Then you’d tucked it back away, afraid you’d chuck it from yourself in anger otherwise.

A silence settles over you as you all think of the quest ahead. Nia sits beside Threep, swinging her legs over the side of the bunk. Her head is nearly resting on the slated ceiling its so low. “We’re really on our way to Flotilla.” There’s hope in her voice, a kind of joy that’s never lacking from her smiles. “Maybe even to another Shard. Can you believe it?”

OR BOLAS OR

“I believe in us,” you say confidently at once. “We might be a ragtag team, but we escaped a Shadow Duke and his evil hounds, a corrupted mayor and his guards!”

“Don’t forget we stole an Onyx Shard from right underneath said Duke’s nose,” Mal agreed with a pompousness that was honestly well deserved. 

“We met Threep, and we’ve got ourselves safe passage over sea!” Nia enthusiastically agrees with this cheerful mood.  

Then you all turn to Tyril, whose lips twitch in amusement for just a second. “You’ve also recruited yourself a formidable ally skilled in weaponry and magic. Congratulations.” 

“Hey, we were talking about teamwork and he only complimented himself!” Mal yelped. “Can he do that?” 

OR BOLAS OR

“I don’t feel ready,” you admit in the creaking, pounding noise of this strange land all around you, surrounded by people you are only just starting to consider friends. “I feel like just yesterday Kade and I were at the tavern in Riverbend. I wanted an adventure, but I never thought it would happen like this.” You sound so broken and small as you pull your satchel tight to your chest.

“I don’t think any of us expected things to turn out like they have,” Nia agrees, laying a gentle hand on your shoulder. “But, I feel safe with you all. You’re brave and capable companions.”

You cover her hand and give her a grateful squeeze, noting the dirt under her nails and the nicked, weathered skin you’d have never assumed could be there. It was only a fraction of the strength she shared with you all.

“Now I’m not one to brag,” Mal boasted in a tone of one who only had one speed, “but I gotta agree with you there. You’re in good hands, kit.”

You laugh in relief and honestly have the urge to hug him. He truly was nothing like how you’d imagined an adventurer being, and that just made him all the more good of a person to be around.

Then you all turn to Tyril, whose lips twitch in amusement for just a second. “He’s right. Now that I’ve joined the team, you actually have a chance of achieving your goals.”

“Hey, we were talking about teamwork and he only complimented himself!” Mal yelped. “Can he do that?” 

“You’re just sorry you missed saying that line,” you burst out laughing, and Nia is fast to join in. You even see another rare smile from Tyril.

“Ahem,” Threep says without uncurling from his ball. “My catnap?”

“Okay, okay, we get the message,” Mal raises his hands in surrender and makes a show of getting himself comfortable. “You get your shuteye, but for the rest of us, the night’s still young.”

Maybe for him. You’re dragging with exhaustion after the lack of sleep from the previous night…and yet you don’t hesitate to follow him either for your next adventure.

Mal leads you all onto the deck, but while he pulls Nia towards a table where sailors play cards, Tyril makes a beeline for the far railing. 

The place looks different at night, even more foreign somehow. Darkness is on every surface, the moon full and bright above only illuminating slivers of movement on the wide deck. You follow him, mirroring his posture as he folds his arms over the failing and gazes up at the sky. He has a complex look on his face, thoughtful, even haunted.

“Mind if I join you?” You ask a respectful distance away.

Tyril shrugs, glancing at you from the corner of his eye before returning to his stargazing. “Can’t stop you.”

“Well, technically, you probably could,” you try for a light, teasing tone as you eagerly step closer, still feeling inordinately small at only coming up to his shoulder and gazing up at him. “A flash of your sword, a little magic, some of that trademark scowl. I’d be fleeing for the water.”

You see Tyril’s lips twitch for the second time. He visibly struggles to stifle a smile. “Fine, you got me. If I minded your company, I would ask you to leave. So I suppose, you’re welcome to join me. If you’d enjoy looking at the sky. And if my company seems adequate.” 

Without further hesitation, you stay in place against the well worn railing, settling in even. Your fingers track over countless cut marks and to many years of usage in a pattern only the ship would know as your eyes flicker from the sky to him and back now. “Your company seems more than adequate. The sky’s pretty nice too.” Tyril grunts, and the seconds tick by. “So, I guess you’re leaving it to me to break the ice?”

“Ice breaking isn’t one of my talents,” Tyril agrees, monotone as ever.

OR BOLAS OR

“Really? Never would have guessed,” you snort. “So, what are you looking at?” A part of you wonders just how different he sees the world from you, and maybe you could go from there. 

He gestures to the sea of stars overhead, thick and dazzling against the night sky. “The constellations. The stories they tell us. In Undermount, we believe that when a worthy elf passes, their soul is scrawled across the stars.”

Your mouth is open before you know it, your heart hammering so hard it should probably be embarrassing. You wait for him to elaborate, but he stays silent, staring serenely at the sky. Gently, you give him a nudge. “Would you mind telling me about one of them?”

Tyril seems momentarily surprised by your interest, but then its gone as fast as it had arrived. There’s something, telling, in his eyes, like you’ve just answered an unspoken question you couldn’t remember asking.  He shrugs, pointing to a cluster of stars directly overhead, he traces a shape between them. “That’s Lantris. She was a legendary archer. Tonight, all the elven houses will honor her fending off ancient invaders with ceremony and revelry.”

“Wow,” your gasp is nearly carried away on the wind. “I’d never heard about any of this before, and Kade knew tons of stories.”

The look he gives you is one close to pity. “It seems there’s a lot about the world you don’t know.”

“Believe me, I’m realizing more and more how right you are,” you agree hollowly.

Tyril turns his attention to the ocean as he rubs something in his hand. It looks like a signet ring of some kind.

“Do you wish you were in Undermount right now? Taking part in the revels?” You ask quietly. A sense of misplaced guilt washes over you, though obviously he was out here of his own accord assisting you, you can’t shake the idea he’d ditch you at a moments notice to return to his home. Your hand tightens again on the strap of your bag and you really try not to dwell on this sudden feeling of abandonment you’d carried all your life making a nasty nest in your heart you can’t shake.

OR BOLAS OR

“Really? Never would have guessed,” you snort. “So, what are you thinking about?”

Tyril shrugs, squeezing something in his hand. It looks like a signet ring of some kind. “The passage of time.”

“Ah yes, how delightfully, vague,” you say, shuffling your feet awkwardly. 

“Is it?” He seems thoroughly surprised by you. “To humans and orcs, perhaps, but to us, time means so much more.”

You give him a completely blank look that you're sure is a spectacular story all its own. “Because, we live longer?”

He’s studying you so openly now, you feel as if you’re about to be dissected and mounted but don’t dare back away. “Yes. It can be, taxing, waiting so long to see results of your efforts.”

“Like, efforts to fight the Shadow Court?” You frown and glance around at the darkness, as if expecting the night to attack you for saying it so openly in its element. Your satchel feels heavier for no good reason.

His eyes narrow slightly, like he’s looking at something far beyond even the horizon. “Something like that. Other things too. There’s plenty I’ve left undone.”

You follow his gaze out toward the endless and vast ocean. It makes you feel small, reminding you there’s so much of the world you don’t know.

“Tonight, I should be in Undermount, leading a toast to the legendary archer Lantris.” His voice isn’t quite melancholy, there’s something angrier under the surface than just sadness. “Instead, I’m here. It’s strange where time’s passage takes us.” 

“Do you wish you were in Undermount right now? Taking part in the revels?” You ask quietly. A sense of misplaced guilt washes over you, though obviously he was out here of his own accord assisting you, you can’t shake the idea he’d ditch you at a moments notice to return to his home. Your hand tightens again on the strap of your bag and you really try not to dwell on this sudden feeling of abandonment you’d carried all your life making a nasty nest in your heart you can’t shake.

To your surprise, Tyril’s nostrils flare and he squeezes the ring tight in his fist. “Hhmp. No. A waste of time. I have more important things to do than give toasts.”

You can’t hold back a quiet snicker. Tyril looks at you in confusion. “Sorry, it’s just, wow. You’re awfully serious, all the time, aren’t you?” You can barely imagine him at the head of some grand table with a goblet of wine trying to give a speech through that scowl and clenched teeth.

His mouth twists at that. Still not quite a smile, but you get the sense he’s amused, at least. He clears his throat. “I suppose I am rather serious. I wasn’t always this way. But, things change.”

OR BOLAS OR

“What’s changed for you?”

Something dark flashes across his face and he squeezes his eyes shut, taking a deep breath. 

“If it’s to personal, you don’t have to-” you try and awkwardly backpedal.

“Let’s just say I trusted the wrong person and leave it at that,” Tyril says flatly, no room for argument. His fingers grip the wooden railing tightly. You avert your gaze, giving him a moment to compose himself. “Life was so much easier when I thought things were limitless,” his voice is a whispering murmur of regrets. “I thought I’d live forever, never want for anything…but now I see the danger the Shadow Court poses. As long as their corruption spreads, I can’t rest. I must fight it.”

“That’s a lot of pressure to put on yourself,” you answer just as quietly. It has not escaped your notice that of the four of you, it’s you two who seems to feel the weight of all this on your shoulders. Nia’s just a good person, in it to help save the world, altruistic if ever you’d met someone. Mal was possibly doing it for more selfish reasons, not gold though. You're yet convinced of where his real motives lay.

Tyril chuckles in a show of bravado. “Maybe, but someone has to do it. I have the skills and the will, so it might as well be me. He seems about to say something else, when suddenly, his eyes widen, and he points toward a spot in the water.

OR BOLAS OR

“And they can change again,” you say gently. You want to believe it.

Tyril laughs bitterly at that, but then something dark crosses his expression, and he lowers his eyes to the sea. “Perhaps. But what's been done can’t be undone, no matter how hard we try.” His long, thick black hair masks his face, tangling tight around his ears and swiping towards his mouth.

“We don’t have to give up though,” you say with a desperate choke in your voice. “We can save my brother. And we can still stop the Shadow Court and limit the spread of their corruption. I, I have to believe that.”

“Oh, I intend to do just that.” The festering anger in him makes a grand return now, his scowl ran so much deeper than anything about him. “I won’t rest until that cursed Court has been defeated.”

You let out a quiet chuckle at his stormy expressions. He raises his eyebrows in question, and you grin. “I have no doubt you’ll be able to do it. But, once you do, maybe you deserve to give yourself a break, huh?” The ludicrous idea has occurred to you to bring him back to Riverbend. In all your wild, strange fantasies, another elf wanting to come back to your quiet home had never been one, but that was all before you’d longed for no place more than Riverbend.

“A break?” Tyril sounds as if he’s testing the new word on a stranger's tongue. “Certainly not. There’s always more that has to be done.”

Suddenly, his eyes widen, and he points toward a spot in the water. “Look! Fae fish!”

You peer dangerously over the side of the railing enough that the next strong breeze might unbalance you, and you do not care. Just beneath the surface, a school of glittering fish dart around the ship’s bow and stream along the side. “What are those? And are they glowing?”

“As I said, they’re fae fish. They give off their own light, and their scales are like jewels.” Tyril’s tone is surprisingly patient.

“They’re beautiful,” you say in utter awe. Gleaming in a rainbow of colors, roughly the size of your foot, their fins seems to have long trails of frills behind them as if leaving a piece of themselves in the shimmering water every time you blink. The school is one large kaleidoscope, leaving your mind unable to even fully grasp where one begins and the other ends, even the ones on the outside dart and move so swiftly the one you’re sure you’ve pinpointed by its unique color is gone and replaced in a flash…or perhaps the moonlight just caught its same glittering pattern and is flashing a new one at you.

“Yes, they truly are,” you realize how different he sounds, slightly breathless with his own awe, but you’re distracted by the fae fish dancing alongside your ship to look around and investigate why. 

Gradually, they change direction and dart out to another part of the sea, leaving a glowing trail in their wake. Tyril continues to stare after them in silence, until you elbow him. “Wow. So you were pretty into those fish, huh?”

He clears his throat and straightens an imaginary crinkle in his armor. “Er, well, the truth is, this is my first time on a boat. I’d only read about fae fish before too.”

The too catches you off guard, you’d never realized you could have something in common with him aside from looks. “Seriously? And here I thought you were the experienced traveler, the lone elf on yet another quest.”

His cheeks darken for a moment as he looks away. You’ve never seen a skin tone besides yours flush that color, it's utterly fascinating to see outside of a dirty pane of glass. He crosses his arms, his armor clanging loudly and awkwardly as he does. “I’m actually new to this adventuring business too, if you must know. Though I assure you, I’m well trained and well-prepared.”

“Yeah, that was apparent enough when you cut the mayor’s head off his body like you were slicing a cake,” you assure, still imagining that thing rolling around the streets and putting the queasiness down to the rolling deck. “Are you sure you’re not a soldier or something? A secret assassin maybe? I won’t tell if you are.”

Tyril shakes his head, then opens his hand, revealing the signet ring resting on his palm. “Actually, I’m the heir to House Starfury.”

The gravitas he puts into the words was strong enough to know this meant, something. “Wow, so, you’re like a lord? Erm, lordling? Dukelet? Sorry, I don’t know anything about elven society.”

The miserable look he gives you is yet more pity, but there’s not a trace of surprise there either. If he hadn’t pieced that together by now from your quick tale, your utter ignorance of this conversation must have made that more than obvious. “Lord.” His voice is curt, but not nearly as unkind as it might once have been. “And House Starfury is one of the oldest, wealthiest, and most powerful houses in Undermount. In the ancient days, we bartered trade all across the realm, patronized the arts and universities, and commanded our own auxiliary forces.”

“Sounds impressive.” You readily admit, unable to imagine half of all that. His tone isn’t anywhere near bragging either, just stating a simple fact. “What about now?” 

“Now, it’s, a bit more complicated than that,” he sighs, turning back to the sea.

OR BOLAS OR

“Being a lord sounds pretty damn nice,” you smirk at once. “You must have had dozens of servants, and tutors, people catering to your every whim, a full plate of food following you around, someone to fetch your arrows and nobody dared not to laugh at your jokes!”

Tyril narrows his eyes. “Being a lord isn’t all glamorous balls and council meetings, you know.”

“No, I don’t know, actually,” you readily admit with a shrug. “So, how about you enlighten me?”

“From the moment I could read, I was expected to know everything there was to know, not just about Undermount, but about all the realms. I drilled with fencing instructors and military strategists. I had tutors for everything from etiquette and poetry to advanced mathematics.” 

He scoffs, flicking his hair out of his face. “And forget about friendship. I couldn’t so much as nod at another elf without contemplating the political ramifications.”

There’s a pit of dread in your stomach at the mere concept. So far, meeting Tyril had been absolutely nothing like you’d ever imagined meeting another elf would be. Somehow, you just find yourself more grateful for your life than ever before.

“Everything was about promoting House Starfury,” he agrees, nothing but deep sadness in him now as he continues to address your growing somber. “We had to be the best, the richest, the most influential. It was our legacy.”

Tyril lets out a long, heavy breath, quirking another quick smile at you, but it looks sad and fades away quickly.

OR BOLAS OR

“Being a lord sounds like a burden,” you admit with a frown. It was far above any status you’d ever imagined yourself in. “Being an heir to a legacy that big? That must be a great deal of pressure, especially when you were young.” 

“Everything was about promoting House Starfury,” he agrees, nothing but deep sadness in him now as he continues to address your growing somber. “We had to be the best, the richest, the most influential. It was our legacy.”

Tyril lets out a long, heavy breath, quirking another quick smile at you, but it looks sad and fades away quickly.

“I’m, I’m so sorry,” you murmur. “That sounds like a lot of pressure to carry around, especially when you were young. You’re saying you didn’t even really have a childhood?”

“No,” the one, flat, unsurprised answer stings all the same. “But there were balls and council meetings to keep my interest, and now I’ve seen how little others have beyond the borders of Undermount. It has made me, grateful, in a way I never was in my youth.” The way he meets your eyes leaves you in little doubt how this could come to mind at this moment.

“Kade and I didn’t have much growing up, still don’t,” you take a shallow breath and force yourself to keep talking through your tight throat. “But we were cared for, and were free to do what we liked most of the time.” 

“That sounds, very liberating,” he says it with the same sort of confusion you feel every time you try to imagine his palace. He smiles sadly at you, though it quickly fades away. “Well, it was quite nice being waited on, I’ll admit.”

It’s amazing to realize he’s trying to tease you, throwing you a morsel of a bone. “So, I’m just taking a wild guess here, but you must not miss Undermount, huh?”

Tyril exhales as he slips the signet ring back into his pocket. “You’re wrong. When I was being groomed to run House Starfury, all I could think about was how badly I wanted to escape. I wanted to see the realms and all the places in them I’d had to memorize on maps. Gaze at the stars all the time. And now that I’m out here, living this grand adventure, I can’t tear my thoughts from home. Because, no matter what, it is my home.”

There’s a deep stirring in your chest the likes of which you’ve never felt before. It takes a long, deep breath for you to be able to name it, but when you do, you realize it was only because of how long it had been absent. The camaraderie, the sense of understanding. You enjoy Nia’s company deeply, but there was something fundamentally different about how you viewed the world. 

Mal, was, an essence unto himself.

There is utter irony in the situation you and Tyril find yourselves in, both having always wanted what the other once had, and now wishing for nothing more than to get back to your own lives a world apart.

“You’ll get home soon,” you say without hesitation. “We’ll deal with the Shadow Court quickly, and then you can get back to your duties with House Starfury. Promise.” You say it with the kind of conviction you’d been breathing in ever since your brother vanished. It had to be true, you’d do anything to make it true.

Offering him a warm smile just makes him look befuddled. “I wish it were that easy.”

“C’mon! If you really want to see home so badly, you have to believe you will! Just like I believe I’ll see Kade again!” You start bouncing your heels in place, trying to pump up yourself, him, all of the universe into agreeing.

Tyril mulls over your words. He still looks skeptical, but he nods all the same. “I, will work on that. Thank you for the suggestion.”

You both stand there a while longer, watching the twinkling stars and shifting sea. Eventually, Tyril speaks faintly. “Syrum?”

“Yeah?” You prompt without hesitation. For a second you think he’s going to pretend he didn’t say anything, but then he meets your eyes. Awkwardly, he clears his throat. 

“...thank you.”

“Any time, Tyril. Any time.” You say fervently.

“I,” he takes a deep breath and clenches his hand in a tight fist again, perhaps missing the loss of that ring pressing in tight as some form of comfort. “I feel I must apologize as well, for our initial encounter. Syrum, not many of our kind interact with humans for prolonged periods of time, and rarely for a good reason.”

You feel a thrill of horror wash through you at such a declaration. You’d somehow known that, not to deep down, from the brief bit of the world you’d gotten to see through his eyes.

“Our magic, doesn’t mix, our costumes, our way of life,” Tyril was speaking a tad hastily, his prevailing unease evident. “I merely took you for a runaway out on your own getting into trouble to, well, it doesn’t matter now. I wish, there were some way.” He clears his throat awkwardly and is clearly assessing you for some sign to stop. You give him none, watching him, silently begging him to continue. “You’ve said you were raised with Kade in your human village. I take it, your parents are…?”

“I, assume, dead,” you agree, unsurprised if the pounding of the waves drowns out your voice. “I, almost hope they are, otherwise,” you let out a dark chuckle, and pull the necklace out of your shirt. “There was a flood, and when it had passed, and the villagers of Riverbend were going around helping their neighbors clean up, Kade’s family lived on the far side of town at the river bend. By the time they got there, his father had washed away, they never found his body, but his mother was still clinging to life, just enough for her to beg of them to, to look after her boy.” You begin twining the pendant this way and that, as if to hypnotize Tyril into seeing what you’d only imagined yourself.

It was a story you’d known all your life, you felt rather possessed, like someone was tugging on strings to make yourself speak it to someone new for the first time. 

Maybe it was just because he was another elf who had shared a piece of himself with you, you were finally sharing this, when you hadn’t been able to bear it in the face of Nia, let alone Mal. Neither of them had asked, and you’d never felt compelled to tell them. They’d taken one look at your situation, ascertained you were an orphan, and that had been the end of that.

“The wet nurse collected Kade, he was taken to an elder woman whose whole family had also been, swept away. On their way back though, they heard this noise up a tree. They thought it was a squalling squirlcat or something, but they, they saw the box, and as far as I was told, there was no debate when they found, me, inside. They took me along with Kade in without hesitation. Nothing else was ever said of it.”

The necklace had been the only thing inside, you’d been clutching it tight in your fist as you cried. It had been a finely crafted box, clearly meant as some sort of portable crib, with a plush blanket sewn inside, nestling you safely, now back in your old barn you still slept next to every night. Not a scratch on you, they’d always said. Always happy to laugh and smile up at the new faces.

“I don’t suppose it’s worth asking if there happens to be any missing elves from Undermount whom perished in a flood with an infant on the way?” You ask rhetorically.

“I am so sorry, my kin, but no, I could not speak to know such a thing,” Tyril says solemnly. You nod without surprise. “Syrum?” he repeats your name as a question, and again you nod, understanding what he was asking.

 “It’s, it’s elvish for healing, wishing to be healed, something like that, I think.” At least, that’s what you’ve always been told. For all you knew, the elder woman who named you was senile and named you after tree-sap or her own sigh after taking a drink.

“They were very close, the sentiment is understood,” Tyril says politely. 

“Oh?” You ask, bracing yourself. “Tell me, is it as close to a human naming their child table?”

“No,” Tyril politely shakes his head. “It is akin to one naming their child after a herb’s effect, Bliss, or Rath. You have nothing to fear of being laughed at for your name.”

“But?” You prompt, not wanting to let this go as long as he’s willing to speak. Even the discomfort you both share at your ignorance was better than your total lack of nothing from before. 

“But, the naming of our children is a precious thing, a ceremony, a party more grand than Lantris could hope for. I am just, very sorry for you, that such a tradition as well as every other of our kind has passed you by. Baring a child is very rare, and sacred to us.” Tyril continues in the same apologetic tone he’d started this in. “I agree it seems most likely your parents somehow did not survive that flood.”

You nod without surprise. “It’s sort of a relief, to admit out loud. When I was younger, Kade and I used to pretend our parents were just off on some grand adventure, the best of friends fighting monsters and doing everything they could to get back to us. We always knew it was a story, but, it was a nice one we told ourselves. Thank you.”

Tyril doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself but nod. “If you, have any other questions, I could try-”

“Hey kit! Elf boy! What are you doing all the way over there? Fun’s this way!”

Mal’s voice cuts between you two like a good sharp arrow. You exchange a look, and a small laugh. “Thank you,” you say again with sincerity. “I will probably take you up on that. We’re going to save the world, remember, and then perhaps Kade and I could even come visit Undermount.”

“That seems like a good future to hold in our hands,” he agrees, the curtness in his voice back somewhat as he turns towards Mal, but his tone has been softened so much now you find it hard to believe that rigged soldier of an elf you’d met only a few hours ago was going to be making a comeback any time soon.

You lean back from the railing, giving Tyril a nudge. “C’mon, let’s go see what this ‘fun’ is.”

“Why do I anticipate it will give me a headache?” Tyril sighs in a very familiar, long suffering voice already for Mal’s presence.

“Good instincts,” you chuckle as you lead the way over to join Mal and Nia at the card table, where you’re quickly embroiled in the competition. 

“HAH!” Mal slaps his hand in triumph. “The diamond crown trumps your golden chalice every time!”

“What in the-” one of the present women is flabbergasted.

“Are we sure he isn’t counting cards?” Captain Gerhard demands.

Mal gathers his newly-won coin and adds it to the pile in front of him. “Don’t need to count, lads. I’m just gifted.”

“A gifted liar, maybe. Now, come on! Let’s see a real show,” you laugh as you plop down among them without hesitation. Tyril hesitates for much longer, but doesn’t need much more persuasion than your encouraging smile to crouch himself into an undignified sitting at the humans table. 

At the end of the next round, Tyril places a card on the table, then snarls as the sailor slaps one down over it with a whoop. “How does your crystal guppy beat my double-edged sword? Blades cut fish!”

“Blades rust in water and besides, this crystal is diamond.” The sailor named Raine smirked, leaning against the table and clearly trying to distract Tyril from his loss with other, assets, from that cut blouse. 

“Diamond, eh?” You laugh. “Perfect for my pirate’s chest.” You slap down your card, and everybody groans as you draw the pile of coin closer. “Kade and I spent more than a few evenings in the taverns gambling with the locals. I know my way around a card game.”

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Mal slaps your back so hard, it would have sent you face first into the table if you were the slightest bit less prepared. “One more round!”

“But Tyril and I have run out of coin,” Nia says, a blue look upon her own face that doesn’t match Tyril’s frustrated one at all.

“You could always bet your honor,” you laugh, looking between the pair. Between the two of them, there was enough decorum in their positions and words to fill a cup with magic by their presence alone.

“Honor is not a trifle to bet with. I know that better than most,” Tyril was not even slightly amused.

“I agree, I’ll sit this round out,” Nia sighs, watching on politely and fiddling with strands of her hair or dress, still smiling along just to be involved beside Mal.

“I’ll play on, and I’ll bet my sword.” Tyril says primly.

You all gape at Tyril, and then Gerhard grins. “Fine by me. I could earn a pretty penny with that.”

The round ends with the largest pot so far, and once everyone has played their cards, Tyril slaps down a depiction of a stormy sky rent by lightning. “Heaven’s fury. I believe that makes me the victor.”

“Elf boy,” Mal sits in completely stunned silence along with the rest of you, wide eyed like toddlers at a teaching. “Were you playing us the whole time?!”

“I was playing the game, and I happen to be a quick learner,” Tyril says with nothing but innocence in his voice. With a smirk, he gathers up his coin, then divvies it up and returns Nia her original amount.

“Thank you, Tyril!” She grins in surprise. “You played wonderfully!”

The pirates are nearly doubled over laughing at you and Mal still sitting there in shocked silence, and soon you exchange a look and join in.

As the night wears on, Mal starts telling the tale of your escape from the Temple of Ellara in grand detail. “-Before that idiot Erthax knew what was happening, we’d escaped with the loot, and plenty more besides!”

“Nonsense,” Gerhard blusters, shuffling his hand impatiently. “You’re talking nonsense again! There’s no way you went up against a duke of the…whatever it was you called it and survived!”

“I bet there never was a duke,” Raine agrees with a roll of her eyes. “Never was a temple. Never was any loot, even! It’s all just made up stories.”

“Face it,” Mal blew imaginary dust off his knuckles and then brushed at his shirt. “I can pull off just about anything. Isn’t that right, Syrum?”

“Oh that’s totally right,” you agree after only a moment's teasing grin on him, just long enough to see his eyes start to widen in panic. “I was at the temple. Saw Mal in action myself! He had those thugs completely fooled. Pretty masterful, if you ask me! Right Nia?”

“Right!” Nia’s instantly on board, though you aren’t sure if she has a sarcastic bone in her body to mean it as anything than utterly true on her part. “We couldn't have escaped from Duke Erthax if it weren’t for Mal’s quick thinking.” There’s a sad smile at the end though, as she presses her hand to her center where her scholar hadn’t managed to escape his fate. You scoot and put a gentle arm around her.

“You’re damn right about that!” Mal’s loud boasting breaks the lingering tension as you both laugh.

Gerhard and the sailors laugh merrily. “All right, if you say so. He may be a scoundrel, but at least he’s a clever one.” The captain raises his hands in surrender, a movement you don’t think he’s lightly accustomed to if his stiff elbow has any significance.

“It’s kept me alive this long,” Mal agrees, swooping his hand through his rugged, long hair.

Suddenly, a wind whips up over the deck, blasting half the deck away as clouds swirl overhead, blocking out the night sky. The ship bucks and rocks beneath you as the sea turns choppy.

“Gods! What’s happening!” Tyril’s clutching his sword and has rolled to his feet with the next crashing swirl in a move that makes you turn orc green with envy as you and Nia go sprawling.

“Brace yourselves!” Mal’s just as light on his feet, muscles rolling with every wave and staying perfectly balanced on the feet he leaps to. “Looks like one of those infamous Cartesian Sea squalls.”

“A what?” You yelp, but it goes unheard in the crew all shouting and scrambling about. 

“Who’s supposed to be on watch?” Gerhard demands, making the act of hauling himself to his aged feet seem like child's play while you’re still trying to get your shaking legs to cooperate at all in the next pitch. “Why didn’t anyone sound the storm warning?!”

A bolt of lightning cuts across the sky, blinding your eyes pure white for a heart stopping second, followed by a deafening clap of thunder. And then the sky opens up, dousing the deck with icy rain. A massive wave crashes into the ship, spewing water over the deck. Mal lunges forward to catch your arm as the ship lurches violently. “Hang on kit! You good?”

“For now!” Your spitting water logged hair out along with the flood in your moth. “Not if this ship sinks!”

The crew sloshes around, shouting and securing cargo. The mast groans ominously as the sails whip every which way, getting tangled in the rigging. 

“Captain, we’ve got to get the sails down before the wind shreds them!” Raine’s cry somehow makes it through the raging torrent of noise as she struggles to do this task on her own.

“Then what’re you doing running around like a bunch of lily-livered landlubbers?!” He roars back from the wheel. “Somebody get up there and pull down my damn sails!” 

“I can pull the sails down Captain!” You shout, glaring up at the slick pole as if daring the storm to fight you over this. “I’m good at climbing!”

“Have you ever been on a ship before?” He growls through the wind.

“Do you want help or not?” You snap back.

The ship pitches sideways, and Gerhard swears. He tosses you his dagger. “Cut the rigging if you have to! We can replace the ropes easier than those sails!”

“Aye aye, Captain!” You laugh of all things, high on adrenaline and positive you’re climbing the edge of the world as you deftly catch the blade by the handle. Patting your satchel for luck, you grab hold of a dangling rope and begin your climb. Gale force winds and torrential rain batter you from all sides, but you’ve always had a natural agility that was surely the only thing keeping you from falling now. You’ve always wondered if it was an elvish thing…and the answer must be yes, as even Raine below is gaping at the ease with which your speed is taking you up. Teeth clamped tight around the flat of the blade, you’ve never felt more terrified in your life, or more determined. ‘This ship isn’t sinking on my watch!’

You scale your way up to the crow’s nest and begin sawing the rigging with the sharp knife. Lighting slices through the sky, and you feel an ominous crackle of static as if ants dancing across your skin. “Come on, come on,” you gasp, fighting to stay balanced on the slick surface, the waterlogged rope wrestling for every string to be cut.

Finally, you slice through the rope! Shaking rain out of your face, you ease your way back down the mast with the mainsail in tow, fluttering and slowing your fall to a graceful thing.

“You did it kit!” Mal’s there to greet you at the bottom, a look of relief sharply on his face in the next crack of lightning. “I thought you’d been fried for a second there!”

“Well done skipper!” Captain Gerhard agrees, a line of his own relief going almost unnoticed in his sopping face as Raine approaches to take the sail and fold it away. “Now you get inside and stay out from under the rest of my crews feet!”

You don’t realize you’re shaking until you make it to the stairs, turning around one last time to see Mal joining Tyril, the two of them hauling at lines and working in tandem to keep this thing from falling apart.

You long to help, but you know you wouldn’t have the strength, you'd only be in the way and possibly blown off the ship in the next blasting slam of wind that makes the ship moan in pain as you take cover. Stumbling back to your storage room with Nia, your stomach is churning as the ship tosses through massive waves. “Urgh, I don’t-” your throat wretches painfully, your innards feel twisted like those ropes you were almost too weak to do anything about.

“Syrum!” Nia’s stumbling alongside you, sopping wet and looking close to tears. “What should we do?”

“Try not to hurl our dinner and get tossed overboard like rag dolls. Maybe we should tie ourselves to the ship,” it sounds desperate and ridiculous and you know somewhere in your mind you’re panicking and can’t help the vomiting of words at least.

“Am I going to get wet?” Threep demands, fur standing on end, tail stuck out like a stick from his rump, nails dug tight enough into the bed to shred it clean while his wings flutter about madly. “Because let me tell you, I hate getting wet!”

You pull yourself into your bunk and brace against the wooden cubby. 

“Syrum? Are we going to be okay?” Nia’s voice is a whisper in the wind in the storm of terror as she presses close to you with Threep safely in her arms between you. Your bag has never felt heavier than now as that Onyx Shard is rustled and tossed about as strong as anything else.

You eye the aging schooner as the port window flashes with a streak of lighting nearby. “We should be, but if ever there was a time to pray to your Light, this might be it.” You two remain huddled close, holding tight to each other as the shouting from above is drowned out like spirits just out of sight. She does pray, a soft murmuring from deep within her. You don’t join in, it would feel false to suddenly throw up an empty offering now in something you’d never given a second thought to before…but you don’t bother blinking away the tears either her words of hope bring you.

The crying does not stop, but in fact lasts all night as the ragged fear overcomes you. Up to this point, you hadn’t the energy to shed a single tear for this situation you’d found yourself in. There had always been a goal in mind, another step to take, passing out from exhaustion and always waking up with a firm stranglehold on your misery to get up and face it all again until you got to this moment. 

Now, you just had to sit, and wait for nothing more than hope.

…

Nia does manage to fall asleep at some point, exhaustion and emotional-over stimulation just having done to much to her. You must have fallen asleep not long after for the same, and so you’re surprised to wake up alone in your small little bunk. Threep has crawled upon the pillow with you, his purrs like a comforting snore you’d nearly forgotten the tone of.

You force yourself upright, as stiff and sore as the Sun Maiden herself must be feeling.

The storm has abated itself, leaving the waters sparkling and serene. Your companions are having a tense conversation with the captain.

“I had no choice, lad. The eye is headed straight for the Isles,” Gerhard was saying, his voice somehow even more gruff and rusty than ever before, as if all the salt and yelling had tried to steal his voice away through the night.

“What’s going on?” You ask, surprised at how hoarse you sound yourself.

“The storm blew us off-course, and Gerhard wants us to just sit here, bobbing in the middle of the ocean doing nothing!” Mal’s snap is not directed at you, but still you feel the full brunt of his anger in surprise at how much he clearly cares inarguably now about getting to Flotilla.

“If we head toward the Shimmering Isles now, we’ll be sailing right back into the storm’s path. We have to wait it out until it passes,” Gerhard states with a tone in his voice meaning he’s not used to being argued with by people aboard his ship.

“But, you said it might take a few days. That’s so long,” Nia says around a dry hiccup.

“Great, now we’ll be that much further behind the Court,” Tyril’s quiet anger is somehow the scariest of all and you’re wondering why everyone isn’t cowering from him. He stalks away, and Nia lets out a sigh and follows him a moment later.

You look over the water at a nearby chain of tiny islands jutting from the sparkling sea. Bright sandy beaches dazzle in the sunlight as palm trees sway gently further inland. “At least the scenery’s nicer,” you mutter, your heart still having a little twirl of joy at seeing something new, being alive to see it.

“They call that one Forbidden Cove,” Gerhard says with a snort of distaste. “Old sea dog legends say beautiful mermaids swim these waters, looking for victims to lure in…” he trails off with a chipped tooth leer at you.

“Mermaids?!” You yelp in delight. “For real!? I’ve always wanted to see one!”

“You’re welcome to head to the cove yourself if you’d like,” he says nastily. “Take one of our dinghies, but if you get eaten by sea monsters, I’m adding that to your bill.”

“This Forbidden Cove sounds like my kinda place,” Mal says, instantly at your side and raring to go as if summoned there by divine intervention. Whatever anger and frustration he had about wasting time before had clearly been better directed. “A little bit of beauty, a little bit of danger…” he winks at you, nudging your side with his elbow. You haven’t the faintest idea what he’s trying to hint at. “And above all, fantastic company. That’s assuming you’ll join me, Syrum.  And I’m feeling pretty good about that assumption. What do you say? Some time to unwind, a chance to see a mermaid…”

It doesn’t feel like the right decision to say yes. Where do you get off wanting some leisure time, looking at new lands and trying to find mermaids when your friends are stranded and miserable with time feeling as if it were slipping through your fingers more every second.

But there was a voice in the back of your mind that sounded of Kade’s, asking why you were trying to deny yourself an adventure, that was nothing like you. The ship wasn’t going anywhere while the crew was making repairs and waiting for the storm to pass…

Your stomach rumbles loudly, and Mal laughs in surprise, giving you a flashing smile and promising, “they’re dry and old, but I’ve got biscuits for breakfast as well.” His tone is a confident cajole he’s probably used to get away with murder.

“I’m in,” you agree, watching Mal’s face brighten at once. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m in this for the mermaids, but, someone’s gotta rescue you from the sea monsters too.”

“Hey now, if we did come across any sea monsters, you’d be more than grateful for my help.” Mal gives you his now signature smirk.

You both climb into the dinghy and the crew lowers you down. Mal easily maneuvers the oars through the sparkling water, bringing you closer to the island. 

“Hard to believe it was storming just a few hours ago.” You say, taking a deep breath of the strange air. “It’s amazing how much in life can change in an instant.”

“Tell me about it,” Mal agrees, his smile a more simple thing than you’ve ever seen. It makes him seem, lighter. “One minute I’m minding my own business, getting forced to open a chest at knifepoint,” he says it with the kind of casualness of someone who is thrilled on life, happy to be alive another day. An addicting rush of adrenaline you're starting to understand as you keep breathing in after last night. “Then the next thing I know, this crazy elf crashes into my life!” Mal finishes with a chuckle, giving you a nudge.

“Oh, I see,” you grin along. “So, I save you, and I’m the crazy one. At least admit that meeting me was life-changing in a good way.”

“Well, let’s see. Since I met you, I’ve been accused of murder, hunted by legendary denizens of the Realm of Shadow, forced to escape one of the biggest cities in the kingdom aboard grumpy ol’ Gerhard’s schooner, and now I’m sailing into the infamous pirate city of Flotilla where I’m almost certainly going to have my head mounted on a spike.” He doesn’t have use of his fingers to tick it all off, but it's a hearty list without the visual all the same. 

“Well, when you put it that way,” you agree, struggling for a moment to think past the terror summarized so sufficiently. 

“All in all, it’s been one of the better weeks of my life!” Mal finishes grandly. 

You both laugh as the oars glide through the calm sea, a sense of camaraderie feeling as if it were cementing itself in place. 

“Seriously kit, I’m sorry we had to meet the way we did, but, you’re all right,” Mal says with a nod as serious as he ever gets. 

“And your compliments continue to be lackluster, but we’ll work on that.” You chuckle. 

As you approach the cove, you trail your fingers through the clear water with a content sigh, and feel something lash around your wrist. “Augh! Something’s got me!”

“Riiight, I’m definitely falling for that. Let me guess, it's a mermaid?” Mal says, hardly glancing over from over his shoulder where the sand is approaching. 

“No, it’s-” the grip around your wrist tightens, and when you try to pull away, a massive tentacled creature bursts out of the water.

It’s a bloodsquid. Almost three times the size of your boat, a massive creature the kind you’d only dreamed about meeting. Vivid red like its namesake…and thirsting for the same thing. “RRROOAAARRR!”

“Not a mermaid! Definitely not a mermaid! Hang on, I got you!” Mal’s roar nearly matches the beasts.

In one fluid movement, his knife is in hand, and he cuts through the monster’s arm and frees you, but five other arms grab hold of Mal and start pulling him overboard. His knife topples to the bottom of the boat. “Agh! Syrum, do something!”

“How do I battle five arms at once?” You demand, paralyzed at the sight of the weeping welt already streaming down your arm from the deep gash of the hooks on each sucker designed to do its job. Mal’s quickly losing the fight though, the tentacles are overwhelming and dragging him every inch closer to the water. “Let him go!”

Without further hesitation, you lunge for the knife and aim right at this things wide, squishy, bulbous eye.

“GGRROOOOARRRR!”

It lets go of Mal as it writhes in the water. The two of you cling to the sides of the dinghy as waves crash over you. “We’re going overboard!” Mal’s trying all he can to throw his weight to the other side to prevent that.

Suddenly, you hear a shout. It sounds not quite human, wreathed in a strange melody. 

“Begone, foul creature of the deep! Return to where you lay to sleep!”

Her skin is gold. She is topless. Her long, phosphorescent green hair cascades down her stomach to almost cover that. Her ears, her eyes, her face, there’s something so familiar and so different about it from your own like nothing you’ve ever seen…except when you compare yourself to a human…

The mermaid swims around the bloodsquid, singing her strange song, and the monster stills. It bobs on the calming waters. 

Its skin pales to a dull shade of purple, and it begins to sink away with a low, crooning, “Reerrrp….”

“The bloodsquid is stunned,” she speaks to you, her voice melodic and gentle even while still stern. “Quick, frighten it off before it regains its senses.”

“I’m on it,” you promise with a sly grin. You nock an arrow and let it fly. It sticks into the bloodsquid’s bulbous head, and it plunges beneath the water with a shriek. 

“Thank you, strangers. The beast was young, and will be too frightened to return now.” She turns toward you, her seaweed like hair glinting in the sunlight, faint luminescent scales sparkling all over her body, all the way down to the tips of her fingers that seem to glow from within the palms of her very hands. Where her fin merges down her waist, the pattern of the two colors continue to blend in a mesmerizing pattern until they grow deeper into the same color onto her tail.

She is easily the most beautiful being you could never have imagined. 

“You’re a real, mermaid! The legends are true! Kade would get such a kick out of this…” the pure euphoria in your voice cannot be matched. 

The mermaid smiles softly and beckons you closer. You lean over the side of the dinghy toward her. “You’re, not luring me to my watery grave or anything, are you?” A small part of you means it as a joke…but you can’t entirely rule it out either. Not after the week you’ve had.

“No, I am rewarding you for valiantly defending my cove from that foul beast.” She smiles, brushing wet strands of hair out of her eyes to better meet yours. They’re as effervescent as her hair. She knocks her head to the side, lips pursed, expectant.

“Oh, this is so great. Kit, I think she wants a kiss!” Mal seems beside himself, one part laughter, one part envy. 

“Oh, well, in that case…” heart fluttering harder than you could ever imagine, you lean down, hesitate for a moment more, and press your lips right to hers. She leans closer, so you cup the mermaid’s cheek and lean farther too. An electric charge runs through you as her soft lips meet yours firmly, tingling every inch of your body, and she lets out a delicate purr. 

“Mmmm,” she seems to genuinely enjoy it too instead of just being some silly show, if her fluttering eyes mean anything. Her lips are cool, and she tastes like sunlight and seawater, strangely intoxicating. When she pulls away from you, she bats her eyes seductively. 

“Are, are we done already?” You ask breathlessly. 

The mermaid giggles and gives you one more quick kiss. Then she slips back into the water, her tail waving a flirty farewell before she disappears out to sea.

“Wow… that was…wow,” you can’t stop blinking, your heart feels like it's trying to flutter after her. You did that. You! That was a part of your world forever now.

Over the sound of your dreamy sigh, you hear a faint clapping. You turn to find Mal watching you with an amused grin. “They say it’s good luck in love to get a mermaid’s kiss, but I’m not sure they meant it quite like that.”

“Don’t you get jealous now,” you giggle, feeling fairly close to drunk. This was better than any free alcohol you’d ever scored. 

Mal snorts and goes back to his rowing until you get to the shallow beach, the water lapping gently at the shore. You look at the golden sand, the trees covering the sheer cliffs before you. The rising rocks of different sizes but each higher than you can imagine come up from the water you passed through to get here look like towering temples that had been there since the dawn of time, all covered in moss.

“It’s beautiful, I've never seen anything like this before.” You can’t believe the amount of wondrous things you’ve seen in such a short amount of time. 

“Well, let’s hurry and get to shore then.” Mal says just as eagerly. 

He yanks off his boots, then rolls up the cuffs of his trousers before jumping out into the knee-high water. You hop out as well without bothering with such a thing and help drag the boat onto shore. 

“Tide’s headed out. We should be good to stay on the beach for a while if you wanted to take a break,” Mal says, still panting a bit and swiping at his multiple dribbling wounds without much concern. 

“I’d say we deserve a little relaxation after fighting off a bloodsquid.” You agree with a leisurely stretch.

Mal does the same, then wades back into the water and stands facing the ocean as waves lap at his shins. You grin, a spark of mischief you don’t bother to resist as you wade out slowly after him, crouch down low, and then sweep a wave at him!

“Aaah!” Mal yelps, stumbling and spinning on the spot, though still never missing a step. He stares at you, blinking as seawater drips down his face. “Oh, now you’ve gone and done it,” his grin is a challenge. 

With a maniacal laugh, he sweeps both arms at you, sending a huge wave right into your face. “Hey!” You laugh, spitting back out as much as you can. 

“Now we’re even. Truce, before we both end up soaked?” Mal is still shocking you with the peaceable offer.

“Truce,” you agree through still chuckling lips.

You both stare at each other, then simulations splash each other again.

“Cheater!” Mal cheers.

“You cheated first!” You can’t stop laughing.

Laughing, you both trudge back into the dry sand and sink down into it, facing the sea. “Gotta tell you, kit, this is just the change of scenery I needed,” Mal says with a marvelous groan as he stretches out.

“What, getting attacked by a giant, tentacled sea monster?” Your cheeks are starting to hurt from still smiling. It really had been far to long since you’d felt so, normal.

“A little danger beats scrubbing the decks on Gerhard’s ship any day. I used to dream about this life, you know. Freedom. Adventuring.” Mal nodded, still sinking farther into the sand. “Back when I was growing up in the slums of Whitetower, that dreaming, it’s what got me through the days. Hell, the years, even.”

OR BOLAS OR

He curls his fingers in the sand, reliving unspoken memories. You hesitate for a moment, but then decide to ask anyway. “Mal, will you tell me more about your childhood? You grew up in Whitetower, just like Nia?” He certainly hadn’t mentioned that up till now. “Or, er, does that count as asking about your past?” Yeah, probably stupid question.

Thankfully, Mal lets out an amused chuckle. “How about this, kit. I’ll tell you what I want to share, when I’m ready to share it.”

You swallow and continue your daring streak. “How are you feeling now?”

“Given that you just got a bloodsquid off my back? I’ll say a little generous,” he tilts his head, surely the sun’s in his eyes, but still doesn’t turn away from the horizon. “Look, Whitetower’s a place of high highs and low lows, and we started pretty much at the bottom of the refuse heap.”

“We?” You ask in surprise. “Do you mean your family?”

He nods slowly, lifting a hand and letting the sand stream through his fingers. It catches the light, sparkling like raw gold against the glimmering lights bouncing off the ocean. 

“I don’t remember much about my mother,” he says slowly, throwing you a look that echoes back to your own past. “Just that she was too thin, to tired, worked too hard. She used to tell me the most amazing stories,” he takes a long, deep breath. “But when she died, I saw them for what they were. Just fairytales.” He sounds, so young.

“I’m so sorry. Losing a parent so young, well, I know how awful that is,” you can’t help but commiserate, a part of you finally understanding why he’s put up with you so long. Finally understands why he truly wants to help you.

And yet, he’s never shown an ounce of ill will towards Nia, who would be at the tip of those high highs. It’s still, strange. The more you learn about him, the less sense he makes. 

His jaw tightens, and you give him time to decide whether he wants to keep talking. Finally, he lets out a breath. “I was all my little sister had left, but I was barely old enough to take care of her as we got shuffled from orphanage to orphanage. And then, as soon as we were old enough to work, out we went. Kicked onto the street with nothing but whatever we managed to steal. It was awful. I swore that once I clawed my way out of that hell, I’d never be broke, desperate, or downtrodden again.”

“Not to presume to much,” you’re still carefully treading, keeping your tone as gentle as you would with an injured wild animal. “But, it seems to me like you succeeded. What did it take?”

He lets out a rueful chuckle. “I got recruited by the Thieves Guild the minute I hit the streets. I was small and fast and made a damn fine pickpocket. For a few days.”

“A few days?!” You yelp. “What went wrong?”

“I stole to much,” Mal’s grin is infectious, you can’t help yourself. You don’t even bother to stop yourself laughing at the absurd statement.

“Uh-huh. Sounds to me like that’d mean you were doing things right for a pickpocket!”

“I decided I didn’t like sharing my take with this old guy who sat on his ass while us kids worked ourselves to exhaustion,” Mal shrugged. “I found out where the thief master stashed the goods, nicked half of it for myself and made it halfway out of the city before I got caught.”

“Were you punished?” You ask, already dreading the answer of how much torture he’d think to give you in detail.

“Nah, he promoted me,” Mal chuckles once again, waving a hand about and spreading more sand everywhere. He glances down at his wrist, rubbing his hand over it distractedly as he’s pulled back into his memories. 

“What about your sister?” You eagerly prompt now. “Are you still in touch with her?”

“I check in on her now and then. She managed to marry a respectable merchant woman when she was just starting out. They run a bakery together in one of the decent parts of town. Their honey almond sweet rolls are to die for! I’ll take you sometime while we’re there.” He promises out of the blue. 

“I’ll hold you to that,” you instantly agree.

As the sun begins to set, you notice something shiny wash up beside your dinghy. Distantly, you hear the mermaid’s enchanting melody. 

OR BOLAS OR

He curls his fingers in the sand, reliving unspoken memories. You hesitate for a moment, but then decide to ask anyway. “I want to know more about your dreams, then and now. If things have all turned out the way you hoped.”

Mal laughs, though it sounds bitter. “Kit, things never all turn out the way you hope. Especially not at first. Whitetower’s a place of high highs and low lows, and I started pretty much at the bottom of the refuse heap.” He picks up another handful of sand and tosses it moodily at his feet. “Every day I’d see these nobles rolling by in their fancy gold-leaf carriages, their amulets winking at me in the sunlight. I never believed in fairytales, though my mother used to love to tell them. But I decided I was going to have what those nobles had one day. And I knew it was going to take a whole lot of hard work, ruthlessness, and cunning to make my way in the world.”

He’s grown steadily angrier the longer he speaks. You try to keep your voice gentle in comparison. “That sounds like a harsh way to live, especially from a young age.” 

He digs his fingers into the sand again and makes a fist. “Life in Whitetower was harsh.” He agrees, voice still hollow with anger that he was used to feeding off of. “But I figured, what respectable nobel doesn’t have a morgue full of skeletons in their closet?” He relaxes, letting the sand slip through his fingers. “Fortunately, I found out quickly I had a gift for acquiring things. Sure beats joining an Assassins Guild and stacking up my own skeletons, huh?”

“Are, Assassin's Guilds even a real thing…” you trail off, uncertain if you want an answer or if he's teasing you.

“Sure, if you know where to look,” Mal smirks. “Don’t look, though. That won’t end well.” There’s something serious behind his smirk you know to believe. 

“Note taken,” you assure. “But I doubt a life of acquiring things has been all that easy either.”

“I prefer the title treasure hunter, thank you very much,” Mal waves a hand, still scattering sand about. “And no, it hasn’t all been easy. But I always dreamed of being able to see the world, buy the finest things, meet the most interesting people. And here I am. Hunting treasure while seeing the world, meeting the most interesting people.” He nudges your leg with his, and you chuckle. “Still working on the buying the finest things part, but maybe we’ll find something special in Flotilla, huh?”

“I’m sure you’ll make it work,” you smile at him with total confidence.

As the sun begins to set, you notice something shiny wash up beside your dinghy. Distantly, you hear the mermaid’s enchanting melody. You gasp and leap to your feet. “Mal, I think she left us something!” You kneel down and pick up a strange shell, you’ve never seen anything like it. It’s a beautiful shade of azure blue with hints of lavender mixed around the point and swirled into the grooves. It opens on one side, like a clams lip, as if hollow within, but it's far to big for that as well as the wrong shape. Some new hybrid species?

…”I, I think I hear something,” you murmur, raising the shell to your ear, and out of that hole indeed, a sound draws you in. A faint voice calling to you in a language you can’t understand. “What in the world? Mal, any idea what this shell is?”

“I've heard rumor it’s called a Shell of Beyond,” Mal says, offering his hand out with interest, you hand it over as he gently twirls it around as delicately as he would his knife, finding a perfect easy balance at once. “I bet we can find someone who’s willing to pay top dollar for it, whatever it’s called.” He concludes with his trademark smirk.

You roll your eyes, giving him a good natured shove. You slip the shell into your satchel, vaguely curious if the next time you reach in it might be gone…though no. The Shard clearly did not absorb inorganic things. 

Mal finally offers you those biscuits, and despite his doubts, you find them surprisingly delicious and flaky as you fill up on them in companionable silence.

Thoughts a whirl of everything, you’re pushing the dinghy back into the water with Mal heading back when he catches your eye. “Hey kit, thanks for coming out here with me. This was fun.”

His grin is easy and carefree, luring out a returning smile of your own. “It was just the adventure I needed,” you agree.

When you get back to the ship, you surprisingly don’t have the desire to run off and tell Tyril and Nia.

You could, there was no real harm in what you did… but as you watch Mal saunter off and flirt with Raine, you just, decide against it. It had just been a nice, quiet moment with your friend… minus the bloodsquid anyways.

So you spend the rest of the day in quiet with Nia, sleeping or snacking like a nesper practically. You’re so bone weary, but so content, and so restless, and so angry, but so anxious to get a move on…

That night, you head back up to the deck, it’s a very different scene than the previous night. The crews still running around, cleaning, patching up and mending. They’re all exhausted and still hard at work, making you feel all the lazier of a bum for not pitching in. 

Then you spot Tyril mindlessly weaving together a net and find the perfect opportunity to do some good as you plot down beside him. 

Smiling, you make your way over and plop against the post beside him, positive he can guess what you’re about to ask by the mild look he’s already giving you, but you try anyways as you reach for another tangled up net. “Will you teach me magic?”

He does not instantly say no and call you a kit and walk off at least, your worst fear. But his appraising eyes are sad, giving you an answer you still didn’t want to hear. “I, have never taught someone before, Syrum. There are basics so rooted into me from so long ago, I’m not sure I’d be the best teacher for you.”

You sigh and decide not to pester him about it. You didn’t exactly want to blow yourself up trying some high-mastered energy blast and get yourself knocked out the rest of this quest.

“I am not saying no,” he tries to reassure you, frowning down at his fingers caught between two knots growing tighter every time he pulls. “Just, simply, let me consider and think on it.” His unease is so obvious, you really can’t blame him. You wonder if he’d ever been around those younger than him much. From what little you’d heard of him, probably not, he would have been focusing on his peers and his elders more likely.

“Okay, then, will you tell me how you tracked the Shadow Court to Port Parnassus, or is that also too complicated?” You sigh, reaching over and tugging at a loop a few squares down to free him. You’d love to be able to just track down all the Shards without a doubt. You still had two more after this one in Flotilla giving you a world of grief!

“You somehow manage to ask the exact question I had feared you would have, yet have no answer for,” Tyril’s smile is still apologetic as he looks from the net to your gratefully. Yours is already folded neatly at your feet. “It was magic, as you assumed, a deeply complicated spell I’ve, perfected.”

 There’s a nasty bite to his tone he does not intend towards you specifically, but it hints back at whatever the Shadow Court had done in his past. You sigh, and let it go, and offer to finish the rest of the pile with him. Tyril nods gratefully, a comforting presence at your side as you laugh for another hour or so at some more elven parties he’s attended until the task is complete. You nod gratefully and turn back in for the rest of the night, not feeling as accomplished as you would have liked, but far less empty handed at least with the promise on the horizon of more…

…and yet, isn’t that all you’ve had from the start?

Finally, late into the next day, the Sun Maiden resumes its journey toward the Shimmering Isles. 

As you see Captain Gerhard emerging from his room, you shimmy yourself down from the crows nest. He speaks to you and Nia with a hint of relief behind his words. “Shouldn't be more than a few days now, mates. I hope you know what you’re getting into.”

Nia sits on deck with Threep in her lap, staring at the sea as it whizzes past, giggling from time to time as the ocean spray dampens her legs. Threep’s purring so loud it's making the crew restless as if a monster were aboard.

“Do we know what we're doing?” You can’t help but echo after he leaves. “I don’t know much about orcs.”

Nia scratches Threep behind the ears. He tilts his face lovingly into her strong nails. “I read a book all about orcish war strategy.” She gives you a sad smile, knowing who this reminds you of. “Everyone speaks of them as menacing raiders, but they actually follow a strict honor code. Granted, they usually warred with other orc Clans, but now that Ventra Tal Kaelen’s united them, they seem to be attacking elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere being places where the Shards have been, if the library was any indication,” you nod, unease filling your guts the more you think about the implications of that. 

“Ahh,” Threep says, a soft growl in his voice, his ears pressing back in anger, “sounds like we’re sure to receive a warm welcome.” 

Suddenly, horns blare out over the ship, sounding an alarm. Gerhard roars orders to his crew at once. “All hands on deck! To arms you scabs!”

You and Nia run to the railing as Mal and Tyril scramble up from below deck. 

“What’s happening? Another storm!” You ask with pure dread.

“No, out there, on the horizon,” Raine’s taken a liking to your little crew in this crew, and she’s both masterfully knotting something down and helping to aim your gaze out into the distance. You follow her direction to a massive ship looming out of the sea, gaining on the Sun Maiden with impossible speed.

“Their flag, they’re flying the kraken,” Tyril says with apprehension, fingers still and calm in the high winds as he pushes his hair away from his face.

“Pirates!” Captain Gerhard shouts the warning as a command that all hasten to follow. “Prepare for boarding!”

“Boarding?” Nia’s clutching Threep tight to her chest and still swaying uneasily on her feet at the slightest rocking. “They’re coming onto our ship?”

“You should get below deck, Priestess, and take Threep with you. This is gonna get ugly!” Mal’s tone is surprisingly gentle as he pulls out his knife, the harshness underlying speaks so loud.

“Nia,” you grasp her wrist and help her fumble to the stairs, and with a ragged feeling peeling at your heart, you press your satchel into her hands. Her eyes widen as she grasps it, knuckles whitening around it without further hesitation as she nods in understanding. “Crack open a crate if you must, hide, be safe.”

“I will,” she promises, flinging her arms around you in a tight hug as she takes those stairs as if accepting no challenge greater.

The pirate ship cuts through the waves, streaking at you like a falcon-cheeta*. You see orcs scrambling on the deck, preparing harpoons, loading cannons, and drawing blades, but it’s one in particular that catches your eye. The wildest and most dangerous looking of them all.

Her hair is a wilder shade of red than even Nia’s streaming back from her face, but that is the only semblance of comparison you could ever make. Judging from this distance, It was hard to ascertain her height from the speed, the enormous tooth she was standing on, and the waves crashing everything into a blur, but she made the tooth she was standing upon seem like a joyful ride rather than a razor sharp thing jutting right out of the side of her ship as she hangs onto a thin bit of rope as if it were just there as a backup on that crashing ocean bursting white all around headed right for you. In one hand she holds an axe, wicked sharp glinting off the sun as if it were about to cleave the world in two, on her hips hangs another of equal strength. Jade green skin, every inch of her rippling with taught muscle.

She only resembles Vantissa’s stature in as much as you do Tyril. This leader does have tusks coming up from her jaw, but not nearly as massive. Her horns were pure black, coming out of her forehead lower on her face, making them seem like bones erupting out of her skull, and they were solid black, with only a bit of a wave to them. She wore breaches of sturdy leather like any other pirate you’d seen, though a fur vest you couldn’t guess the pelt of.

…You’ve never seen anyone so beautiful in all your life. And she is probably about to kill you.

Before you can finish any other thought, the vessel pulls up alongside your schooner and launches a flurry of harpoons. Gerhard bellows from the helm. “Fight like your lives depend on it, you dogs! And don’t give up my ship!”

The harpoon lines pull taught, and orcs rappel over. One lands before you, brandishing two swords. She is the leanest one you’ve seen yet, wiry for an orc you’d assume, and somehow younger with a darker olive skin tone and black hair pulled in a tight braid behind her. “Hmph, don’t you look like a runt. I’ll make this quick.”

She slashes at you with a guttural war cry, and you barely duck out of the way in time. 

You hope aside on pure adrenaline and hopes, and nearly fall over a tangle of rope. With a controlled twirl, you wave your arms about as if to topple over it, and she advances with a winning smile. You grin back and snatch the rope in hand, flinging it around her legs. She falls with a heavy thud and a grunt of surprise. “Oohmph!”

Before she can free herself, you kick her swords out of her hands and bind her wrists. She wriggles helplessly on the deck like a flopping fish. “Let, me, go!”

“You won’t be getting outta that any time soon,” you assure, stunned at your own prowess.

Pirates and Gerhard’s crew clog the deck, their shouts filling your ears, and the air is already thick with the smell of blood. Suddenly, you hear a scream. “Syrum! Help!”

A hulking orc with a barrel chest big enough to make any pirate jealous has Nia pinned against the cabin! She looks terrified and tousled, but so far unharmed as she clutches your satchel to her chest like it's her own heart. Threep hisses from her shoulder, swiping at the air. “Stay back! These claws can take out an eye!”

“Looks like I’ve found myself a damsel in distress and her little pet cat,” the male orc is a wall of intimidation. One shoulder is covered in spiky armor. His neatly trimmed beard is as red as his hair also braided back, and his horns are a massive thick weight you can’t wait to rip off.

In the span of a heartbeat, you’ve notched an arrow and let it fly. It buries itself into his arm. “AUGH!”

“Pick on someone your own size,” you snarl, already notching another, blood pounding in fury in your ears.

The orc turns around, yanking the arrow out of his arm, blood spurting down his arm as if he were rapidly growing a pelt of hair. His eyes catch on you, and he bares his teeth. It is an admittedly impressive display. His tusks are practically sabers coming up from his lower jaw. “I don’t see anyone my size, but you’ll do.”

Yeah, that’s fair, you barely come up to his waist.

He lumbers toward you, shaking the entire deck. You take a step back, but bump into a pile of barrels behind you. “You’re making this to easy,” you jeer, readying yourself on the heels of your feet. Waiting until the orc is a few paces away, you step to the side. He chases into the barrels, getting buried as they topple over him.

“Ugh! Get me out,” he groans from somewhere inside.

“You’re a lot of brawn without much brain, huh?” You cackle as you make your way over to Nia. She gives you a grateful hug you can’t cherish as much as you’d like to, frantically looking all around. Mal’s at his wits end, moving light on his feet from perch to box to railing, but the orc on his skin is just as fast and has a wider range with that sword leaving him on a desperate defense. Tyril is slowly backing towards his circumference to keep his back at least on a friendly, but his blade is dancing with an orc’s gauntlets determined to stay close and block every strike and leave your friend dodging just as much without able to get a proper stroke off.

You pull another arrow, longing to help-

 As Captain Gerhard shouts to be heard.

“SAILORS, STAND DOWN!” His voice booms over the fight, and everyone looks over to see him in the middle of the deck. An ominous silhouette looms behind him, holding an axe to his throat. 

It’s the leader, the woman so obviously steering this ship from wherever she was away from the helm. “Good call, Captain. Especially since I’ve got those trained on this little dinghy you call a ship.” She points with one hand toward her ship, where a line of enormous wooden catapults are pointed right at the Sun Maiden. 

Mal elbows Tyril. “So, ah, elf boy, you got any magic that can stop a catapult?”

“Most definitely not,” Tyril seems as put out as Mal about it as he flicks blood off his sword, before sheathing it resentfully.

Mal tosses down his blade, the resounding clatter it makes upon the deck sounding quite defiant despite the act. It’s also dripping in gore. “We surrender!”

As the pirates leader grins, her crew makes its way through the ship, rounding up the Sun Maiden’s modest crew and dragging you to the center of the deck with them, disarming you each as you go. 

“Let go of me! I can walk fine on my own!” You don’t take your arm away from Nia no matter how they pull, they’ll have to rip you in half.

“We don’t mean any harm! I swear!” Nia’s trembling and clinging to you with a wild look of fear that’s sadly become all to familiar to you.

“Oof! Watch the wings, you brutes!” Threep’s still on her shoulder, the hand guiding her around batting his wings aside without care any time they flutter to close.

“You’ll regret this,” Captain Gerhard growls. “I have some very powerful friends in the royal navy!” He speaks to the other Captain without a trace of fear, chin held up proud despite his defeat.

They only leave four to keep you all circled tight, the rest, about thirty or so on their side, are helping their injured to their feet, there are a fair few. At least one is dead, the decapitation leaving you pretty confident who had done the deed.

“The royal navy?” The pirate leader cackles. Up close you gage that she is only a few inches taller than you, her presence just makes her seem bigger. There’s something about her voice, that confidence…it reminds you of Grenn. She knows what she’s doing, and she is not afraid to let everyone know, but there’s something more to it than the cockiness Mal effortlessly exudes too. Her eyes flicker across all of you without interest. “If you think they’re a threat, you must not know who I am. Name’s Imtura, old man, and your cargo is now mine. As for the rest of you, don’t make any funny moves and I might spare your-”

“AWOOOOO!”

It’s so loud you can’t properly tell which ship it even comes from as it echoes over the bay. Imtura spins around at the deafening bellow from the horns. “What’s your crew playing at old man?” She snaps.

“Captain, something else is trying to board!” Raine urgently interprets. 

Something heavy hits the side of the Sun Maiden with a thunk. A giant webbed hand appears on the railing, followed by another, and together they hoist up, nightmare fuel.

They’re not mermaids, that’s for certain. 

Fish like creatures, with poisonously vivid purple fins and frills. Their skin is black as ink, but with a starry blue, almost constellation smattering of specks across their thin, serpent like bodies…but their heads are monstrous. With teeth so sharp and wide it’s a wonder if their mouths even close, their eyes are globs of red hatred. They have esca dangling from their foreheads, as if the tiny jewel were there to entice you into coming closer, while their pointed, spiked spear made that as unwelcome as the rest of their presence. 

“Grrgllrggg!” They didn’t speak so much as just make a blood curdling noise of horror.

“Grobtars!” Gerhard spat in disgust, somehow these creatures upsetting him more than the orcs going through his cabin.

“Curse the seas! Now, of all times!” Imtura seems in full agreement.

“Everyone, grab a weapon, NOW!” Mal shouts, lunging back for his knives without further ado. 

The orcs don’t stop him.

*The word they actually used there was missile, and it threw me off so bad I had to sit and laugh at the idea. No amount of technology in this realm indicates they should know what a missile is. I wanted to change it to a cannon, but up to this point Syrum hasn’t seen how fast a cannon can launch itself through the air. If you have any fun hybrid animal ideas, I’d love to hear them, they’re so fun to think about!

[stringoflights93]

[stringoflights93]

Chapter 3: The City By the Sea

You got bored counting the steps of how far away you were, unable to backtrack and make it back home as if that were even an option, a safe retreating distance even. Useless, stupid thing for your mind to have focused on. It became apparent very fast you were the slowest, the kit of the group in that way though. Nia and Mal apparently never had an excuse to look back before. Despite your pounding feet, aching thigh muscles, and the constant companion of an empty space somewhere beside you making you the most determined to press on.

Walking led to chatting a bit with Nia about her travels, and you walked some more until you crashed from exhaustion, the goal of the city the only thing in your heart, there was no such thing as unable to walk another step.

Days away from the Temple now, Mal seems as cheerful as ever as you near human civilization again. “All right, team. If we make good time today, we can reach Port Parnassus by noon.”

Use of the word team threw you off, and still gave you a lurking suspicion about him, false sense of security still skulking your thoughts. You shake it off and match his tone. “Scholar Vash said the Shard was in the library. If we get it, we’ll be one step closer to rescuing Kade and keeping the Shadow Court gone for good.” If you say it enough times, if you remind yourself it's possible as often as you can, it has a chance of being true. 

“I’ve never been to a city as big as Port Parnassus.” You add quietly as the two only give resounding nods of agreement. “All I can think about is how excited Kade would have been to see it.” You know you sound as blue as your skin tone, and the misery clearly weighed down the company as Mal and Nia exchange a worried look. You're not really lagging behind physically, but you worry you are in other ways and don’t know how to fix it.

Then Nia reaches for your shoulder with a gentle smile. “We can explore the entire Library of Parnassus for him. They’re supposed to have the largest collection of orcish pastoral poetry in the world!”

“That sounds like a threat,” Mal muttered ahead before saying more audibly, “besides! Anyone can see that what Syrum needs is to get lost in a few pints of ale in the port's dockside taverns.”

“But I’ve heard terrible things about those docks. So many criminals and gamblers,” Nia seems truly aghast this was his idea of a good time. You’re honestly only growing more concerned by the hour at the company you’re keeping for the time being honestly.

“Don’t forget the houses of ill repute,” Mal agrees cheerfully. “Smugglers who can get you anything your wicked little heart desires! I once blew five thousand gold in one night at the tabasi tables there. The owner kicked me out because he thought I was scamming him. Then I got in a fight with the card house muscle. Broke my jaw in two places. Good time, gooooood times.” He finishes with a raucous laugh.

You and Nia exchange a look. 

Once upon a time, you would have loved to tag along with Mal to his idea of a good time. A walk on the wild side, some adventure. His one afternoon was more chaotic than anything you’d experienced your entire life being told to get out of Russelby’s bar.

OR BOLAS OR

“I’m game!” You agree, anything to get out of this quicksand feeling holding you down.

“Now you’re talking! I know this great place we can start at. You pay a flat price for all the ale you can drink in ten minutes. Although, now that I think about it, I might be on their blacklist. The details are hazy.” Mal admits.

You laugh at him, trying to ignore the sting of your brother not laughing with you. “We can start easy, but I could definitely use a good drink after so many days on the road.”

“One of us has to be sensible,” Nia’s smile was indulgent. “I thought it was you Syrum, but clearly I was mistaken.”

“Kade would want me to have as grand an adventure as I can so I can tell him all about it when he’s safe.”

“Precisely,” Mal nodded along. “Where we’re headed, an adventure is practically guaranteed.”

OR BOLAS OR

But you find all you want right now is a good story, maybe get lost in it enough you can pretend it’s Kade telling it to you. “The library sounds great. It’ll be like traveling all over the realms while standing in one place. Kade would have loved that. It doesn’t seem right that I get to enjoy them and he doesn’t.”

“When we find a way to free Kade, we’ll be sure to bring him to the library so he can enjoy it too,” Nia gently promised.

You start to smile when you feel something odd. A low vibration coming from your pack! You startle hard enough you’ve leapt off the ground like a snakerabbit. “What, what the-”

Tossing your pack to the ground, a small leather satchel falls out, pulsing and rumbling in its confines. Nia quickly digs through the satchel, pulling out the source of the vibration: the green crystal Vash took from the vault. “It looks like it’s cracking!”

She’s absolutely right, it’s splintering all along its surface, the painfully bright glow coming from inside becoming brighter every moment. “What in the world…” your voice fails you at such new magic, your entire mind shutting down to do anything other than stare.

Mal was very quickly backing away. “Judging by the last magical rock we dealt with, I’d seriously put that down if I were-”

The crystal shatters in Nia’s hands, fragments raining to the ground, where they reform to reveal…

A batcat? Catbat? You’d never seen anything like it before, but the creature has the distinct shape of a cat, with its large, leathery wings indicating what it could also be. Nia’s now having to use both hands to hold the slim little beast. “Mrew?” He, or she, peers up at you.

“Oh my goodness!” Nia squeals in delight, immediately kneeling down to be on its level.

You can’t help the joyful rush that flows through you seeing the beautiful creature and go to do the same, offering your hand out. “Hah, hey there little guy! Did you get trapped in that nasty rock too?” Your heart is already melting for the little fella as he tentatively sniffs your hand and you long to cuddle her close and press him to your heart, promise her it’ll be okay now. 

The kitten mews softly as you scratch behind the ears. “Mroww?” Nuzzling his cheek against your hand, her entire body is rumbling with purrs.

“That’s a good, err, batkitty! We’re not gonna hurt you, no we aren’t,” you croon gently.

“Mrooow,” he says more confidently now.

“I think it likes you Syrum,” Nia giggles, still knelt down and reaching her hand out hopefully for her attention next.

“I hope that’s a good thing,” Mal is still several feet away and frowning suspiciously. 

“Can we keep it? Oh please, tell me we can keep it!” Nia begs.

“Well we can’t just abandon it in the woods,” you immediately agree. You’ve always wanted a pet, but the few horsecows and dogpigs that were in your town were already such mouths to feed you and Kade could never seriously consider it. The same problem presents itself now…but you can hardly leave the little guy out here to fend for himself either! “So sure. I say we call him, Xaius.”

The great elven King, and one of Kade’s favorite stories. Sounded pretty gender neutral too until you could figure this gal out. It felt perfect! “Isn’t that right Xaius?” You smile down at the little fella. “Little kikibaba.”

The catbat blinks up at you. “Why would you call me that? My name is Threep.”

You, Nia, and Mal all scream in a grand synchronization as you and Nia leap away from him and Mal launches himself further back still. Definitely him. A rather deep voice for…an animal his size!?  

“You can talk?!” You demand.

“Light’s Grace!” Nia is rubbing her poor heart, but there’s a smile lingering upon her at least. “You’re a nesper, aren’t you?”

“Am I already in my cups? What is going on?” Mal demands.

“Nespers were the beloved advisors of the ancient elves before the Great War. They’re supposed to be extinct!” Nia says in awe.

Threep makes a deep noise of disapproval. “That’s certainly news to me. I’d consider myself very much alive, thank you.”

Nia holds her hands out, splayed on the dirt, and bows reverently before the creature. She shoots you a meaningful look, and with great hesitation, you drop into an awkward bow as well. If it’s what your ancestors would have done…

Mal just watches, arms crossed and an eyebrow cocked.

Nia’s undeterred, speaking reverently to him. “Ancient One, you must have been trapped in that crystal for thousands of years. You must be so confused! So much has happened, let’s see, the elven empire is all but forgotten, the Shadow Court was banished-”

“I've heard everything, little one. I was trapped in that crystal, not asleep.” The shard was green you viciously remind yourself, not black. Kade probably can’t hear you, wherever he is… “Let’s see, if I’ve got this right,” Threep climbs up to perch on Nia’s shoulder, then clears his throat. “Collect the Onyx Shards, do the ritual, banish the ancient evil.’ Yes, yes, sounds lovely. But might we spare some time for a snack, first?”

You can’t help but laugh in delight for the little guy. Words of wisdom indeed. “Sure, you can have some of my rations. It isn’t much, but you might like it.” You fish a few dried strips of venison from your pack.

Threep makes a deep mrroow of pleasure. “I mean, ahem, that smells delicious.” He says with dignity. You dangle the venison before Threep, and he pulls it down between two tiny paws. “Mmm, scrumptious! Much appreciated! Serum, was it?”

“Sigh-rum,” you politely correct. 

“Hold up,” Mal came back forward and glowered down at the new little guy. “We can’t keep this thing around. We don’t know how big it’s going to get. At a certain point, we’ll start looking like food. And I am not getting eaten by some mangy cat-bat.”

Not an animal lover then, why were you keeping this guy around again?

Threep made a deep hissing noise of displeasure, his voice raspy, but you notice his claws aren’t digging into Nia’s shoulder in the slightest as he glowers at Mal. “I beg your pardon! That term is remarkably offensive!”

…you aren’t entirely sure if he means mangy, or cat-bat though…

“We aren’t leaving him!” Nia quickly throws her hand up to shield him in defense. “The nespers and elves lived together and cared for one another for centuries. They aren’t meant to live in the wild.”

Threep preens, licking his paw and then rubbing it behind his ear. “It’s true. We’re pampered little things.” You don’t bother to hide a chuckle at his adorable little showboating.

“You’re a conspicuous little thing is what you are,” Mal says flatly. “We don’t need the extra attention lugging him along will bring.”

“I can keep him inside my pack and no one will be the wiser,” Nia says primly. “It’ll be fine, I promise!”

“You’re killing me Priestess,” Mal’s scowl is switching alternately between three equally large pleading eyes. “Why do you want to keep him so much really?”

“Because he’s, helpful,” you say promptly. “The elves surely kept nespers around for good reason. You’ll help us out, won’t you Threep?” You grin down at him.

“It is my solemn duty and my distinct pleasure to offer aid where I can,” he readily agreed, a previously unheard dignity coming into his voice.

Mal is clearly not impressed. “I’m not sure how much help a defenseless little pup is going to be when we’re up against the Shadow Court.”

“Defenseless? Ha!” Threep preened. “Never underestimate a nesper’s wisdom and impeccable ability to judge character.”

“Wow, and so modest too,” Mal said with a straight face.

“I mean, he’s also adorable,” you add quickly with a meaningful look at Nia. “Just look how precious he is! That little face, those little paws, those big round eyes! We’d be heartless to just leave him!”

“I am rather adorable, aren’t I?” Threep began purring and rubbing himself in circles around Nia’s neck like a very furry scarf come to life. 

When Mal moves closer, his back arches instinctively, tail staying low across Nia’s arm.

“Ugh, spoken like a true con artist,” Mal huffed.

“Takes one to know one,” you chuckle.

“Fine, but when you wake up in the middle of the night and find the adorable bat-kitty gnawing on your face, don’t come crying to me kit.” Mal rolls his eyes, but finally strolls off back to the path. You and Nia high-five in triumph and hurry after. You only pause for a moment to bend down and pick up the tiny leather satchel Threep’s rock had been trapped in. Taking a deep breath, you carefully take out the Onyx shard still wrapped in your shirt, and slip it inside, knotting the cord tight. 

Marching on, and on, and on, there’s finally some change. A slight tang in the air you can’t hope to identify. You do finally reach the gates of Port Parnassus. With the sun hot overhead, you pass through the city walls of heavy stone.

The market place is stunning and so eerily familiar, and so new all at once, it gives you at least five new emotions to process. The smell is like nothing you could have imagined, the salt teaming in the air with every breath on the wind mingled with strange smells that made your stomach snarl with interest. People speak in a familiar tongue hawking their wares on worn but loved stalls, but some of their goods are like something from another realm. The hint of fish and strong nets were so comforting it brought tears to your eyes, you wanted to go and hear their stories. The fruits and other assorted meats, the garb and fashion would have taken a good explanation or two for you to wrap your head around.

“There’s so much, everything,” you feel so small, your voice carried off by the wind and more people in one crammed street than you’ve ever identified in your life.

Everywhere you look, humans, orcs, and even a few elves mill through cobbled avenues shaded by colorful awnings. Sandy-colored buildings taller than any Riverbend loom over the streets. Laundry, festive lanterns, fresh fish, and more hang between them.

“So, what should we do first,” Mal places a gentle hand on your shoulder and spreads his arm wide, ready to guide you wherever your heart desires. The turnabout of seeing this side of him in his element is a strange comfort in a strange land.

“The ocean,” you say without hesitation. You haven’t yet stopped taking deep gulps of the air for the new, strange taste on your tongue. You’ve heard tales alone about the deep expanse of the water and can’t imagine their bottomless depths in comparison to the rivers you’ve played in all your life. ”That salt in the air, it’s coming from there, right?” You find yourself almost eager to engage with Mal yet again.

“Have I got a treat for you, kit.” Mal gives you a friendly shake. “Keep up, and don’t get lost in the market.” He leads you through the crowds to the docks, where he ushers you onto a rickety wooden platform. He sweeps his hand toward the glittering waters taking up the entire horizon. “There you have it. The Cartesian Sea, in all its glory.”

Hundreds of boats of all shapes and sizes bob in the crystal blue harbor as seagullrats call out overhead. Farther out, you can’t even tell where the sea ends and the sky begins.

“It’s, it’s enormous!” You can’t even see the bottom here from where you’re peering over the side. Anything could be lurking about…the mysteries that these waters must hold…”and so beautiful…” you murmur, bending down onto your knees to scoop your fingers across.

It’s probably ridiculous, it’s just more water, but you don’t care. Traveling across the earth had been one thing. This massive expanse of endless sea was truly nothing you’d ever seen before. You take a deep breath of briny air, letting it refresh you. When you look over at Mal, he’s watching you with an odd smile. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says hastily. “Just, been a while since I’ve seen someone so sincerely impressed with an ocean view. It’s kind of nice,” he shrugs.

“I’m surprised you didn’t claim you set this all up just for me, Mal the Magnificent,” you’re growing more in finding him easy to tease, as he sighs deeply and fights off a smile.

“And what would you say if I did?” He chuckles.

OR BOLAS OR

“I’d say, thank you,” you admit with a small grin. 

He chuckles again. “Yeah, well, you’re welcome, except all I did was bring you out to the prettiest part of the city on a good day.”

“Oh really?” You smirk, sitting up from the water to  cross your arms. “You brought me to the prettiest part of the city? And what made you do that?”

He immediately appeared to be getting some sort of sunburn if the rapid red coloring his face was supposed to mean something. It was hard to chalk it up to anything else…except Mal’s deeply tanned skin likely didn’t burn easy. “I, uh, I mean, I just, I thought you’d like it, that’s all.” He composes himself rather quickly like it never happened, crossing his arms. “Don’t read anything into it.”

“Oh of course not,” you play along.

Grinning, you turn back to the sea. The vivid orange of the sun ripples in the water's reflection as it starts to set. Streaked clouds in pinks and violets dance through the sky. 

OR BOLAS OR

“Oh, I’d say you’re a liar,” you say at once with a laugh. It’s become quite the good source of entertainment to trade barbs with him. “Let me guess, you arranged for all those boats to be in the harbor the same way you arranged for that racoon to run off with my breakfast.”

“Hey, I’m trying to be charming here,” Mal readily smirks back.

“I must be immune to it,” you snort.

“Well, you’d be the first,” Mal rolls his eyes.

“Second,” Nia reminds.

A tiny voice pipes up from inside Nia’s Satchel, “third!”

The two of you laugh and share a long smile. Grinning, you turn back to the sea. The vivid orange of the sun ripples in the water's reflection as it starts to set. Streaked clouds in pinks and violets dance through the sky. 

‘Don’t worry Kade,’ you can’t stop the pain from making a familiar return as you fight the urge to sink back to your knees. ‘I’ll make sure you see this too, someday.’

Nia leans into the cool, salty breeze with a calm smile on her face. “This is just the reminder I needed that there’s still beauty in the world. The Light hasn’t forgotten us.”

Her heart is admirable, you can feel the love in her words radiating off of her, but it’s exactly that which makes you draw away and feel whatever camaraderie you’d been building begin to loosen again. What Light would take away your brother and still claim to care?

“Well, the Light is fading,” Mal snorts, breaking you both back. “So, I suggest we get moving. Hey! Alfonso!” He hopes down from the platform and waves toward a mustachioed man running a fish stall. 

His dark brown skin is common around here, his thick curly hair is held down by a sweaty brown bit of cloth that matches his tan coveralls that smell very strongly of fish, chunks of it even making hints along the crease. His tone is jovial as he nods. “Mal Volari. I thought I told you never to show your face at my stall again.”

“And I thought I told you you’d miss me too much. You got any of the Purple Parnassians? I’m trying to show my friends here a good time.” He gestures back at you both, and it does occur what a pair you two really did make in this crowd.

You can’t help but startle at his casual use of the word friend too. So few people had ever called you friend before…none, come to think of it…

“Just got a fresh batch this afternoon. You’re lucky, they’re in season,” Alfonso rummages through his crates and unearths a tray of violet-colored oysters nestled in ice, their shells sparkling like crystals. “I don’t suppose this devil warned you about these, did he?”

“What’s there to be warned about?” You ask hesitantly.

“They look pretty and delicate, but they’re notoriously spicy. Some folks call them the ‘Tonguemelters.’” Alfonso chuckles.

“That doesn’t sound delicious at all, I think I’ll pass,” Nia takes a hesitant step back.

“Hang on, Priestess,” Mal tries to gently sweep her back forward. “You haven’t heard the best part yet. They’ll turn your mouth purple!”

OR BOLAS OR

“Intriguing,” you admit, “I’ll give it a try.” You pick up a shell and raise it toward Mal. “To new adventures.”

“I’ll toast to that,” he meets your eyes as he clacks the shells together. You slurp them down at the same time.

“Tastes like a regular oyster to me,” you say in surprise, then there’s a tickle and you hack a painful cough as what feels like liquid fire blazes through your mouth all the way down to your stomach. “Ahhh, it burns,” you try and choke, shaking your head madly and honestly tempted to scrape your stomach across the ground to try and alleviate the pain.

Blinking back tears, you look over to see Mal grinning and wolfing down his third Toungmelter. “It’s an acquired taste. You’re hanging in there great for a first timer,” he even gives you a thumbs up as he reaches for a fourth.

Alfonso hands you a water skin, and you chug it down as quickly as you can. You rasp out a laugh when you notice Mal’s mouth is a vivid purple. “You look like you’ve been kissing a squid.”

“You’re one to talk, Kit,” Mal smirks.

OR BOLAS OR

“That sounds awful. I shall pass to,” you say, unwilling to get the slightest bit sick and risk whatever precious little food you have.

Mal shrugs and scoops up a shell. “Suit yourselves. More for me.” He slurps down the Tongeumelter and props both hands on his hips. “Ahh, that’s the stuff. I’ve missed that.”

“You can really eat them? Just like that?” Nia askes in astonishment. 

“What can I say? I’m a man of danger and mystery,” Mal’s grin is slowly becoming familiar, a joking affair to the world.

“More like a man who’s burned away all his taste buds!” Alfonso scoffs behind his stall. He hands him a waterskin, which Mal chugs down. When he wipes his mouth, you notice it’s now a vivid purple.

“Nice look Mal,” you chuckle. “You look like you’ve been kissing a squid.”

“I’ve kissed stranger things,” he gives you a wink.

There’s a strange mmrrmphhrrr coming from Nia’s bag.

“Is your bag, mumbling?” Alfonso begins leaning out of his stall in concern. 

“Oh, that’s, uh, that’s just my stomach,” Nia gracefully lies.

“Do you have any anchovies we could take with us? The priestess can’t get enough of them,” you smoothly agree.

“Urkh, yeah, I, love those little fish, with their slimy skin, and their dead empty eyes, so, soulless and cold…” she trails off, pretty much ruining whatever she’d started.

“I’ll, wrap some up for you?” Alfonso can only manage it as a question as he stares perplexedly from her, to you, to Mal. When he’s met with silence, the shopkeeper does as he said and wraps up a package of slimy anchovies, and you gratefully take it and wander back into the city.

“This must be what the Trade Bazaar back at Whitetower is like!” Nia says in pure wonderment. “I’ve never seen so many, so many things in one place before!” 

You nod in silent, awed agreement, still taking it all in yourself as you pass stall after stall of goods: beaded jewelry, exotic fruits, pottery and cookware, skewers of charred strange meat. “Things is right. I don’t even know what half of this stuff is.”

With a flourish, Mal gestures to a pinch-faced woman guarding a stall full of feathery contraptions. “You’ve never had need for a feather duster made from viperlark feathers? What a simple life you two have led.”

“Town clothes, the finest Parnassian silk and tanned leather,” the elder woman agrees brightly. “Tailored while you wait! Come and try them on! See something you like, friend? You look like you could use some new gear?” She cajoles, staring at you.

The outfit she unearths is soft and sumptuous as she sets it in your arms. You admire the flowing silks and soft leather buckles. It’s so elegant…it would make you look as if you blended into this place with no problems… you look down at your miserable excuse for clothes. You look like a street urchin in rags from your rough go of it so far…

But you ultimately hand her back her wares with a sigh of regret. You can’t bring yourself to spend your measly amount of coins on something so, frivolous. You need to look and see if you can find a new bow and some decent arrows around this place instead. “I appreciate the thought, but I don’t really think it’s for me.” 

“Suit yourself,” she nods, “but come back soon, will ya? I’m getting new pieces in all the time.”

“Oh Syrum, are you sure,” Nia frowns. You look down at the grubby, disgusting clothes you’d been traveling in since Riverbend. Her dress has held up remarkably well, must have been made from good strong material despite its adorable color, and Mal seems no worse for wear.

 Your clothing however, had always been thatched and sewn and replaced every few months by the seamstress’s daughters after you brought them a dozen fowljays. The days of travel had already put wear and tear into the shirt and breeches long since needing a replacement even before the Temple of Ellarha mishap.

Giving them up though makes a burn pass through your throat…but you don’t let yourself dwell on it. You’re not giving up your home for some clothes, you scold yourself for being ridiculous. “Have you anything more, comely?” You ask instead. 

The stall owner nods and rummages through underneath for a moment before coming up with something more like you’re wearing now. You smile and haggle on the price for only a moment, it's still far more coin than you’d usually spare, but still but a drop as you step inside her hut. 

You refuse to look back as you leave the old clothes in there. Perhaps she’d burn the old rags, or make use of the material. It’s no concern of yours. 

As you continue through the market, you notice Mal glancing around uneasily now. 

“Something the matter?” You prompt.

“When you’re in this business long enough kit, you get a sixth sense for when you’re in trouble And right now? We’re being watched.” He agrees tersely.

“By who?” It takes all your willpower not to gasp and look wildly around.

“Not sure yet, but I’ve seen at least a half-dozen people glancing our way, guards mostly, but a few merchants too,” Mal says, head on a swivel, but it looks so natural like he’s merely scouting the stalls.

“Why would they be watching us?” You ask miserably. The last thing you need is more trouble, and you haven’t done anything wrong to these people. Was it you?

“You don’t think, it has to do with the Shards? With the Shadow Court?” Nia asks urgently.

“I don’t know, but we need to keep our eyes open and our wits sh-”

But before he can finish, you collide with an armored figure striding the other way.

It’s an elf.

An actual, real life elf. Right in front of you, no mirror in sight. 

He stands as tall as Mal, in gleaming silver, intricate armor and red velvet cloth. His skin is a lighter shade of blue than yours, but his hair is the same dark black hanging loosely about him. His ears are longer than yours as well, pointing prominently out of the side of his head. There’s two swords strapped to his back.

Your mouth is hanging open.

The grim looking elf shoves you with a sneer. You eye the weapons strapped to his back warily, all enthusiasm forgotten as you waver on the spot of how to respond.

But you step aside, letting the elf pass you as you brush yourself off with a scowl. You glare daggers at his retreating form. “Haughty jerk,” you mutter, equal parts stung and furious. At this rate it felt as if the universe were taunting you with so many elvish things back to back, and not a single one of them even felt good.

“Ignore him, he’s not worth the effort,” Mal’s eyes have already skimmed on.

“Definitely not, he’s radiating powerful magical energy,” Nia agrees, staring after him curiously though.

OR BOLAS OR

“Hey! Watch where you’re going!” You snap on pure instinct, hands balling into fists.

The elf’s dark eyes burn straight through you. He takes a menacing step forward, keeping his voice low. “I’m not the one crashing blindly into strangers.”

His voice is as elegant as everything else about him. Refined, stronger even than Nia’s somehow in commanding tone. You’ve never heard anything like the power behind his voice.

It’s infuriating all of a sudden, what the universe keeps dumping on you. “You sure about that? Because there are about twenty vendors who’d probably say otherwise,” you sneer.

“You’re drawing attention to me, which I don’t like. Back. Off. Now.” He’s towering over you, and whatever measly pride you were trying to hold onto is quickly withering.

“Listen buddy, I don’t know who you are or what your deal is, but I don’t take kindly to folks talking to my friend that way,” Mal’s shouldering himself between you. This is truly the most bizarre day of your life. “We gonna have a problem?”

The elf sizes Mal up as if genuinely considering reaching for his sword, amused as a predator eyeing its prey, when Nia springs forward.

“We beg your pardon, kind sir! My companions here meant no offense!” Her hands are held up in a gentle, pleading way like a sweet, naive girl once more. She seems so small in comparison like one strong gust of wind could blow her away. “Please forgive them and let us go on our way.”

“You two should listen to your friend there. She speaks sense,” the elf stalks away, and you and Mal turn to Nia.

“Why did you suck up to him?” You ask in disgust…but you’re still watching him depart too. Three hells, that had been your first ever elf you’d met, and that’s how it went?!

“Yeah, I’m like, ninety percent sure I could’ve taken that guy,” Mal is sizing her up as if just seeing her for the first time. She stares him down. “Okay, eighty.” He concedes. She keeps staring. “Fine, forty, but I would’ve gotten a good punch in!”

“You don’t understand. That elf was radiating magical energy, powerful energy. He wasn't to be trifled with,” she shakes her head furiously to be understood.

“We should probably get down to business anyways, right?” You sigh, but agree to let it go with one more longing look to where he’s long gone. “Nia, where’d you say the library-”

A shabbily dressed child comes running up to Nia and takes her hand, blinking away tears. She has tangled brown hair and more dirt on her face than any natural coloring. “Excuse me miss, I’m lost and scared! Can you help me find my mommy?” She pleads.

“Oh of course darling!” Nia keeps her hand tight and bends down to look into her eyes. “Everything will be alright!” She leans over, giving her a hug.

“Nia, wait, don’t-”

But once again, Mal’s warning comes a moment too late. Before he can finish, the girl grabs Nia’s coin purse and springs off with it.

“Hey!” Nia looks more startled than anything as she looks at the empty space on her hip. “That won’t help you find your parents' little girl!”

“She’s a pitpocket Nia,” you scowl, watching her take off into the crowds in mingled fury, and pity. You’d been the homeless child in your village and you'd never resorted to stealing…but only because of the kindness of your neighbors. This bustling place hadn’t even batted an eye at Nia’s shouts.

“But she, I, oh,” she trails off miserably in defeat. “I don’t think I like this city anymore,” she sighs.

“Is there someone we need to call? A constable or a guard? Someone to help get it back?” You ask of Mal.

“No one’s going to care about a pickpocket,” Mal scoffs. “If you want your purse back, we’ll have to get it ourselves.”

“You want to chase her down?” You ask in pure shock.

“Want to? No, not particularly. But I also don’t want to look at the priestess' big sad eyes while she’s pouting all afternoon,” Mal huffs.

There’s more to it than that, you know it at once. Maybe he knows as well as you do that kid needs the money more than you. Maybe Mal can feel it, same as in your bones, how wrong it would feel to go chasing after a child while you tower over them and snatch the money back away as she cries in terror.

But the hard truth was, you needed that money too. Nia had more in that one satchel than you’d ever wrap your head around. That thirty gold you and Kade were once promised would have been a drop to their traveling money.

You take a deep breath and clutch your satchel bag tight in regret at what you were about to do, but you told yourself to get over it and make a decision now. This was only the first in a long, hard road of decisions you were going to have to make. “Let’s go.”

The three of you take off, sprinting through the market after the child. “Get back here you little twerp!” Mal shouts full blown now, easily taking the lead.

“Slowpokes!” Her faint voice travels to you on the wind alone with a laugh. She’s sprinted straight into a thick crowd of shoppers, her small form vanishing from view the moment you’d caught sight of her.

“Out of the way! MOVEMOVE!” You order, trying to channel some level of authority into your voice.

It’s surprisingly effective, people part with gasps and exclamations of surprise, many dropping their wares as you speed past.

“Haha, you’re scarier than a rampaging owlbear,” Mal congratulates, having had to fall back and run beside you in the thick throng of people.

You grunt without pleasure as the child is just up ahead, glowering over her shoulder at you. “Leave me alone!”

“We just want my coinpurse back!” Nia pleads, keeping up the rear fairly well even if she was having to hike up her dress not to trip on it.

The girl puts on a burst of speed, sliding nimbly under a moving oxcart carrying a huge load of hay that moves into your path.

Your leath frame weaves right through it, between oxen and cart right over the yolk like a brisk wind. You dart through, eyes never leaving the child.

You hear Nia gasp in surprise and say something about almost there, but she’s starting to fall behind. Mal had the agility to dart around through the crowd without trouble and was still right in step with you as you run around a corner, and see the child disappear into a narrow alley with a single red door. Mal throws up a hand, and you and Nia skid to a stop.

“Hang on, this is about to get tricky,” Mal’s voice is suddenly soft and weary, not even winded while you brush your hair aside, barely winded, though Nia is red in the face and panting in distress.

A hulking figure guards the door, a rusty trident propped on his shoulder. He’s in full combat gear, shoulder grieves and a helmet, as intimidating as you’ve ever seen anyone be.

“Um, so, I dunno about you guys, but impalement by rusty trident isn’t really how I wanna go,” you admit.

Mal looks as displeased as you’ve ever seen him and says, “I got this.” With a bone-weary sigh, he walks over to the guard.

“I don’t know who you are, friend,” the guard speaks like he really didn’t care and his fingers twitched eagerly, “but you’ve got three seconds to turn around before I-”

Mal removes a glove, revealing a tattoo on the inside of his wrist, a pair of crossed daggers in a crimson diamond, framed by six blood drops. 

“Oh!” The guard's tone changes at once, straightening up and all but saluting him. “I’m so sorry, Reaper. I didn’t realize who you were. Come on in.” He hastily steps aside and opens the door in one motion with practiced ease.

You shoot Nia a confused glance, and she shrugs. Mal waves to you impatiently, and you both follow him in.

The three of you step into an old abandoned temple packed with people, most of them children. It’s not unclean, the hay looks fresh, there’s a crackling fire across the room and the beautiful stained glass windows are shining with light. Still, the children are as filthy as you’ve ever seen, and while some of them are playing and smiling, all of them have a lean, hungry look to their physique. Some are asleep in the hay, others sit at tables, sorting piles of loot: coin purses, rings, even a pair of spectacles. 

“Oh my, are these all, criminals?” Nia asks wearily, placing a hand up to the broach on her neck and looking very small. 

Neither of you answer the truth. An older man in a robe approaches you. Mal shows him his tattoo, and the man bows his head. He’s got flowing white hair and mulberry robes embroidered with fine gold lace. His smile is welcoming, his eyes cold. “Well, well. A Whitetower Reaper. To what do we owe the honor?”

“Cut the pleasantries, Theifmaster,” Mal’s tone is cold, and cordial. You haven’t actually heard that tone from him yet. It makes him sound far more intimidating than any of his posturing ever had. “One of your brats pickpocketed a friend of mine.”

“My deepest apologies, she did not know” the man presses both hands to his heart in clear regret. His smile seems almost mocking now. You hazard a wild guess it’s because Mal’s traveling with someone who could let themselves get pickpocketed. “Tinara. Return the goods.” He says in a simple, gentle commanding voice.

“Fine,” the girl appears out of the shadows at his elbow with an angry huff. She grudgingly shoves Nia’s coinpurse back at her, then scurries off to join some friends.  

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” Nia’s holding it with regret radiating off of her. “What’s happening here? What is this place?”

“We’re in some kind of crime den priestess,” you softly hiss in her ear. “Maybe better not to ask questions?”

She doesn’t turn to meet your eyes. “But, the children? What are they doing here?”

OR BOLAS OR

“Yeah Mal, what is this place?” You ask in queasy unease, your mind just not willing to form the answer unless it’s spelled out.

“It’s a Thieves Guild outpost,” he sounds, sad, but says it with familiarity. “A shabby one too, if you ask me. If these kids were worth their salt, you’d never have noticed your coinpurse was missing,” he even chuckles a bit at the end.

A story you’d heard from travels tugs vaguely at your mind. “Hang on, there really is a kingdom-wide Thieves Guild? I thought it was a myth?” 

“Well, yeah. That’s what they want you to think,” Mal chuckles now, but you can hear how hollow it is, with some strange mingled pride. 

“But the children-” Nia insists. 

“They’re being trained up and put to work,” he shrugs. “Where do you think pickpockets come from?”

“That’s terrible!” Nia shrikes, backing towards the door as if to flee his words. 

“Terrible?” He gives her a dry look and a raised brow. “These are orphans, Priestess. Kids from the dregs. The thief master here puts a roof over their heads, gives them three meals a day, and keeps them safe from brigands and kidnappers. What he’s doing here is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for ‘em.”

“He’s training them to be thieves! Criminals!” Nia snaps back, that fire you’d only briefly seen in her once before rearing its head now.

Mal’s eyebrow remains unmoved. “There’s a lot of worse things they could be than criminals. Try hungry. Or dead.”

You can’t help but agree with Mal as you remember the cold nights you’d gone without food when the harvest had been to low to feed you and Kade. You’d learned to scavenge and hunt at a very early age while he’d still been practicing his alphabet. “Sorry Nia, I agree with Mal on this. The real worlds not an easy place for everyone. Sometimes you have to make hard choices to survive.” You eye that purse in her hand she was clutching in a death grip now, though you were sure she had half a mind to fling it on the ground as an offering to pay for these kids or something.

“These kids steal, but it keeps them from starving,” you gentle your voice to try and make her really hear you, “or worse. That’s what matters.”

“It’s not a pretty truth,” Mal firmly agrees, “but it’s a truth all the same. That world you wanted to see, Priestess? A lot of it looks like this when you get to the underbelly.”

“I, hadn’t considered that,” she agrees wearily. “I don’t agree with teaching children to steal, but, I can understand your point of view.” 

Your eyes burn as you look around again, and wonder what Kade would have to say about this place.

“Now then,” Mal breaks into your thoughts, as usual now. “We’ve got your coinpurse back. Can we get out of here?” He does seem anxious to leave. 

OR BOLAS OR

“Mal, this is wrong!” You side with Nia, unable to wrap your head around what he’s so easily saying. “I know life in the city is complicated, but there has to be a better way than turning children into thieves. It just feels, wrong.” You had never resorted to it, you couldn’t imagine the desperation.

“Exactly,” Nia stands firm. “These children deserve better than to grow up like this and be branded criminals their entire lives.”

“Yeah, well, when you two idealists figure out that better way, you let me know,” he scoffs. “I’ll be over here in the real world. Now then, we’ve got your coinpurse back. Can we get out of here?” He does seem anxious to leave. He’s already turning to go, and as you follow, Nia kneels down and hands the girl who robbed her a small engraved talisman. 

“Remember child, whenever you need help, the Temple of Light is there,” she says it so sweetly, still devout in this mystical Light of hers even after seeing this.

The girl stares at it skeptically, then pockets it without a word.

You all leave the guild and head back into the market, feeling newly shaken. Nia walks in silent contemplation, while you keep pace with Mal.

“So, your tattoo got you in?” You ask hesitantly. “Does that mean you’re part of the Thieves Guild?”

“I was,” he agrees casually. “A while ago, not any more.”

“They call you a Reaper, that sounds ominous?”  It had to be some kind of high ranking status among the organization, or possibly a title he’d earned for stealing something serious. Or doing something to get him kicked out? Was there some kind of no kill thieves code? Reaper, the word echoed ominously in the back of your head as you’re once again reminded how little you know of your guide at this revelation that makes all to much sense. 

Mal takes a deep breath, an unusually pained look on his face. “Look Syrum, I’ll help you get these Shards. I’ll help you get your brother back. I’ll do whatever it takes.” Your heart leaps at this turnabout from him, but you can’t even bask in this happiness for a moment as he continues gravely. “I’m just going to ask two things in return, one, I get first pick of all treasure. Two, don’t ask about my past.”

He sounds so firm and cold. You don’t risk tempting him into a change of mind. “Understood.”

He reaches out, gently patting your shoulder. “Knew you would. Now come on, we’ve got a library to get to.”

It’s a quiet, peaceful moment that for once doesn’t linger with uneasiness as you come to an understanding with each other.

Nothing more eventful happens until you come across a smith who does have a fine bow for an acceptable price. Nia purchases it for you, mercifully as you hadn’t the coin, and she waves off your thanks, still toying with the drawstring of her bag. You know it’s not really from nerves of being stolen again.

You test the weight and pull taught at the new string as Nia leads your group through the streets back to the main thoroughfare. You turn a corner, finding yourself in the shadow of the Parnassian Colossus. “According to Vash’s map, the library should be right, here,” she says, her brightness dimmed completely since you’d arrived in town.

Perhaps because there was no library, just an empty space dotted with makeshift tents. Figures trudge between the shanties, staring at the ground with hollow eyes.

“Wow, library must have bored itself to death,” Mal snorts.

“Bah,” a local spats at him, his voice low and gravelly. Whether from disuse, yelling, or naturally so, you couldn’t guess. “Naive tourists. Don’t even know what happened.” His curly black hair is only a shade darker than his skin. His clothes are grimy, eyes unkind watching you from the brim of his crumpled stetson hat.

“I beg your pardon?” Nia asked politely. 

“Look, I can see you’re not from around here,” he eyes her with even greater dislike than you, “so lemme give you some advice. This ain’t a tourist attraction, so you’d best scram.”

You step forward without hesitation to put yourself between Nia and this man. That’s your naive priestess as far as you're concerned now. “This ‘naive’ tourist is the youngest person ever to ascend to the full rank of priestess in the Temple of Light. Whether you follow the Light or not, she deserves some respect.”

Nia places a gentle hand on your shoulder and steps up beside you. “My friends and I have come to Parnassus in search of its library. We’d appreciate if you helped us find our way, Light willing,” she says as sweetly as ever. Somehow knowing it isn’t an act makes her all the stranger to you.

“Hhmph,” he grunts, face unchanging in lines. “The Light hasn’t graced the Port of Parnassus in some time. Don’t know why it would start now.” He leans closer, studying Nia like a curious antique in the marketplace. She holds his gaze, chin lifted, and you see some grudging respect enter his expression. “But, I suppose I appreciate the effort, Priestess. Not that it’ll get your library back. A band of orcs raided the town a few years back. Mean ones, vicious.” His smile is matching. “They plundered the whole damn library and burned it right to the ground. Took the loot back to their damn floating city.”

“Flotilla?” Despite the carnage being described, your heart can’t help itself from leaping in excitement at just the idea. “I’ve heard it’s massive!”

He gives you a dry chuckle. “Aye, that’s where Ventra Tal Kaelen, queen of the united orc Clans, lives. Does business with all kinds of unsavory sorts.” His crooked teeth probably included himself in that.

“What were the orcs after?” Nia asks in surprise. 

“Beats me,” he shrugs and tucks his hands in his pockets. “All the library had was a bunch of old scrolls, artifacts, dusty things like that.”

“Thanks so much for your help. So glad to know this was all a huge waste of time,” Mal says with a smile as fake as the street mans. .

He tosses a coin to the local though, then beckons for you two to follow him away from prying ears. “Well, that’s terribly tragic. But if the Shard’s at Flotilla now, guess it’s gone forever,” he heaves a tragic sigh that makes you want to kick him in the throat, all momentary solidarity forgotten.

Nia’s just as angry. “No, it isn’t! If it’s at Flotilla, then that’s where we’re going next!”

“I was afraid you’d say that,” he groans, looking down at the pair of you. “No. No way! Absolutely not.” He’s crossed his arms, and he looks quite cowardly and nothing close to magnificent. It didn’t seem like an act either just to get you riled up, the idea of going there was truly baffling him.

All this only fuels your anger as you shout at him, “you promised to help get Kade back!”

“I promised to try,” he agrees with a faint smile. “And I did. Got you all the way to the sea, didn’t I?”

Your anger had you nearly shaking, everything seemed like a joke to him. “And you’re going to give up just like that? That’s the kind of man you are!?”

It’s like your anger doesn’t even register with him, he might as well be looking right through you. “You know, sooner or later, this guilt trip is going to stop working.” He rolls his eyes like it already has. 

The word guilt trip has your hand itching for an arrow to shove into his eye, he was as useless as a hellhound at this point whining at your feet along every hard bump in the road.

Threep pokes his head out of Nia’s pack. “We need to get the Shard, but I can’t imagine the orcs would be so kind as to hand over their plunder just because we ask for it.”

It’s at least a sensible answer, even if it only barely dims your anger as you turn and talk to the talking cat. “We need a plan, but first we need some rest.” You let out a weary sigh and try to heave out all your anger with it. “It’s too late to book passage on a ship tonight. Let’s find an inn and regroup in the morning.”

If Mal was even still there come new light.

Your group heads back to the heart of the city, stopping at a post office along the way so Nia can send a dove to the Temple of Light in Whitetower. “Losing Vash is a great blow to the temple,” she murmurs, twisting her hands in agitation into her dress. “But they may be able to start preparing for the purification ritual.”

“And in the meanwhile!” Mal cheerfully cuts in. “Here we are! The Siren’s Cove Inn. It’s clean and quiet, and that’s about the best I can say for it!”

Nia pays for two rooms, and though you probably should have asked how she intended it, you follow her into hers while Mal ducks across the hall. She doesn’t bat an eye as she sets down her bag with Three, and goes into the adjoining bathroom while you sit heavily on the bed. It’s clean, with a fire ready, the material under you is warm, the sheets a pleasant yellow, the beds fluffed and newly washed. You're mulling around on it, barely taking in the lulling, crackling heat from the logs as your mind spins with misery, it weighs heavily inside you like you’d swallowed that Onyx shard.

“Sneeerk,” Threep snores.

Nia giggles, scratching the snoring little guy behind his ears. You honestly couldn't even say how long she’d been back in here.

“Guess he really liked those anchovies, huh?” You manage a reluctant smile at how adorable the two are.

“As fascinating as it is to watch the ancient kitty sleep, I need to get out and stretch my legs,” Mal says from the doorway. You tense and force yourself to turn and look at him without a scowl.

“Riiiight, because you haven’t been walking all day. You’re going to stretch your liver, you mean.”

“Guilty as charged,” he bobs his head. “Nia, how about it? I’ll bet that stuffy Whitetower of yours didn’t have a pub that could compare to the ones here.”

“I don’t know,” she’s clearly hesitant and cuddles closer to Threep’s side. “I’ve heard those places can get, well, raucous,” she says it like it’s a very dirty word not to be used around public places.

“We can stick to the more reputable establishments,” Mal waves off with a smile. “The ones I haven't been kicked out of yet, at least. You said you wanted to see the world, right? This is the world!”

“I, suppose so, as long as you promise we won’t stay out too late,” she says with a reluctant smile.

Mal bows to her with a dramatic flourish. “I give you my word, fair priestess. And Syrum will come along to make sure I don’t break it!” He concludes gallantly. “I know he’ll at least have a blast.” He gives you a wink.

“Oh good!” Nia does seem relieved at the turn of conversation. “If you’re coming, then I know I’ll have fun!”

OR BOLAS OR

“I, I don’t know,” you hesitate, really in no mood for a good time.

Nia could clearly sense that, and it only made her eyes get bigger and more pleading. “I know you’re hurting Syrum, but dwelling on nothing but the pain only makes it sharper. Please come.”

“I, yeah, all right,” you crumble to her peer pressure if nothing else, but you already know your hearts not in it. “One drink.”

“I’ve never even had that,” she agrees, “so it’ll be an adventure!”

You laugh in delight and scoop the snoozing Threep back into Nia’s satchel. “I guess we have earned some fun after the day we’ve had,” you reluctantly agree.

“Looking forward to it,” Nia says brightly as she hops to her feet.

You take a deep breath and face Mal. He doesn’t wait for an apology before flashing you an eager smile and turning away, and you weren’t really looking to give him one anyways as you reluctantly follow  “All right!” He cheers, even fist pumping the air. “I knew it was only a matter of time before I got you two speaking my language!”

The three of you head down to a raucous tavern below the inn. Nia sticks close to you, looking around anxiously as Mal leads you to the bar. 

Inside is a surprisingly comfortable and familiar sight, even not knowing a single patron. The roof is much higher than you're used to, but otherwise it's like stepping back into Riverbend. The lights were bright, the laughter was loud, the songs still blaring to be heard, the smell of alcohol lingered in every breath, the floor was sticky, and humans of every shape and size and state of dress roamed around from one table to the next cheering and full of drinks.

“Oh my!” Nia is actually clinging to your arm now, and you can’t help but smile at how nervous she clearly is. She had yet struck you as shy really, but also, this was the first time you’d seen her in such a crowd today. “It’s so loud! Oh! Did they, did they mean to spill their drinks all over themselves like that?”

You look over and laugh at the men all dripping in ale and still shoving each other. Whether in playful jest or a fight was about to break, you couldn’t quite tell, and go back to curiously watching as Mal calls out, “Vantissa! You’re looking gorgeous as ever, what’s your secret?”

There’s a clang as the barkeep hoists an enormous tray of empty metal tankards off her shoulder, tossing Mal a grin as you all take a seat. 

Your heart about leaps out of your chest, a thrill races its way down your spine at her deep voice, still feminine in some way, the accent barely there of some far off land. “Not giving a damn does wonders for the complexion. Who’re your friends Mal?”

She’s an orc. At long last, you can finally check one single thing off your list, and it’s not even starting off bad. You are actually, really seeing an orc, and the smile that bursts out of you is ludicrously bright at being returned. “You, you’re an orc?”

“Sure am sugar,” she gives you a wink, and you’re about to melt on the spot. Her thick hair is black and all waved over the left side of her face, leaving one horn to peek out of the mass, exposing the other enormous one fully curling away from her forehead mottled the same color as her evergreen skin and growing blacker the nearer it reached the tip. She didn’t really have tusks though, so much as just an underbite, her entire lower set of teeth resting lazily against her upper lip making her smile seem like a challenge. There was some sort of bone hanging from her ear like jewelry, (same as in her nose,) not quite as pointed and prominent as your own, but by no means small and curled like a humans. 

She wore a simple white linen dress that made her seem slim as she towered over all three of you, and yet more bones across her collar like a necklace. Yet she was obviously muscular under the attire, her forearms rippled with muscle in every flickering light. Her eyes were a warm glittering brown as she continued appraising you, and slowly you realized your mouth was hanging open like, like a kit!

You quickly snap it shut in shame and stammer out, “I, I’m Syrum! It’s nice to meet you!”

Vantissa laughs, it’s a deep, rich noise you instantly smile along with. 

“Syrum here is a great adventurer of renown!�� Mal claps a friendly hand to your shoulder, and you hope you’re not blushing as furiously as you feel you are. Okay, gods help you, you kind of forgive him for being the biggest mystery jerk of your life right now as you sit up taller in your seat.

“I am doing my best,” you agree breathlessly. Her smile widens, exposing more teeth, even her upper incisors are rather fanged.

“-And Nia, an Illustrious Priestess of Light,” Mal gently adds, giving your shoulder one last shake before releasing. 

Now Nia’s definitely blushing. “Oh, I’m, I haven’t fully ascended to full priestess yet, but-”

“The Light eh?” Vantissa leans down on the bar so she’s more eye level with you, her breasts resting on her arms comfortably as she cradles her chin in hand and appraises Nia with interest. “Don’t get to much of that in Port of Parnassus these days. Maybe too much adventurin’, though.” She chuckles to herself. 

“We heard about the raids a few years back, how they destroyed the library,” you agree, frown returning at what in the world all that must have caused for her business…all the implications to be had there. Had she come aboard with them but lost her heart? Had she helped them locate the library? Had she opposed them? You shake your head as you realize you’re making up your own story to go along, just like Kade would have as you chase it away. 

Vantissa nods as she begins scrubbing out the empty tankards, there’s anger coloring her tone now. “All of Flotilla’s gone mad if you ask me. They say Ventra Tal Kaelen united the orc Clans, bah!” She puts an extra hard thrust into scrubbing, nearly ripping off the handle from the sturdy mug. “All she did was make it clear what sort were welcome in her new order, and it sure isn’t folk like me.”

You long to ask for more. You imagine it easily, reaching out for her hand and listening to her talk about her world all night long, but she’s already cutting that dream short as she shakes her head and reaches for another cup. “But that’s a problem far beyond my station. My tavern’s doing well, which is all I ask for really.”

“Always happy to hand over my hard earned gold to you, Van,” Mal grins along, nothing ever phased him. “Speaking of which,” he trails off suggestively and looks at the pair of you. “Syrum, Nia, there’s only one rule when you’re drinking with Mal. It’s my treat.” His smile throws you off, it seems genuine. It’s probably foolhardy to wonder if it’s apologetic. 

Vantissa laughs along. “It’s his way of bribing folk to enjoy the pleasure of his company. So, what’ll it be?” 

“I’ll have an ale,” you say without hesitation…gods, your first free ale in so long…Kade would be overwhelmed with joy…

“Ah, an elf after my own heart,” Vantissa gives you a wink and your heart flutters so hard it hurts. You might be having an actual magical attack you were so all over the place right now. She pours a draft of ale from one of the rows of kegs behind her and slides it your way. It smells wheaty and rich, much stronger than anything back home. “The Arrazi orc Clan brews this up on their islands. Their matriarch’s an old friend of mine.”

You take a sip without further hesitation and smile in delight at the flavor. It warms you to your core and has a nice hint of something sweet to balance out the bitter taste.

“Slide me one of the same Van,” Mal heartily agrees, already slapping more than enough coins down. “Me and my liver are trusting Syrum’s instincts tonight.”

“You sure about that?” You can’t help but chuckle. “Because my instincts say the stuff I drank at Riverbend was better served cleaning rust off your armor.”

“Why would you drink it if it tasted so awful?” Nia asked in concern. 

“The taste wasn’t the point,” your smile gets a bit fainter, but doesn’t leave her wide eyes. “What? You never got drunk off cheap liquor with the other acolytes in the temple?”

“Certainly not!” She seems shocked you had to ask. You’re already mentally kicking yourself too, she clearly hadn’t been kidding before. Honestly it just kind of makes you all the more sad. “We were perfect models of decorum! Although,” her smile is finally a bit, dare you say, rogue. “Every now and then, we did get up to some mischief!”

She looks between you and Mal, a devious grin splitting across her face.

“Oh, this I’ve got to hear,” Mal guffaws. 

“Once, we swapped the old High Priest’s lecture notes for a poem we found in the archives! He read the whole thing out loud!” Her laugh is radiant and so full of joy you have no choice but to tag along, even if it is a tad tinged with sadness at this girl's idea of a prank.

“Tell me it was at least a dirty poem,” Mal sighs, turning back to his drink with a shake of his head.

“Of course not!” Nia yelps. “It was an elven historical! Quite lovely, actually,” she smiles to herself.

You can’t help but look at her with interest. She’d told you a great number more of elven gods along the road here and was clearly more than happy to speak of all she knew on the subject, it was truly the most information you’d ever gathered about yourself, or at least your past. “I’d love to hear it,” you say honestly.

She smiles without surprise and nods, “I figured you would.”

“You acolytes clearly knew how to party,” you can’t help but laugh at her pleased little grin still reflecting back. 

Mal groans and gestures at the row of kegs behind the bar with a winning grin. “Well Nia, you are no longer an acolyte. You’re among friends! Now’s the time to live it up a little, if you feel so inclined,” he politely finishes much to your astonishment. You feel a little bad for your surprise, he’s proven he can at least be a gentleman to her. It might be his only redeeming quality of late, but it was better than nothing.

“And by a little,” you playfully add in, “he really does mean a little. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you don’t go reciting any scandalous elven poetry by the end of this.”

She laughs at the pair of you and nods confidently. “I suppose I could try something, though I’ve heard alcohol tastes a bit unusual…” she trails off still a tad reluctant as she eyes both your half-empty drinks.

“What kind of tastes do you like dearie?” Vantissa prompts gently. “I’m sure I’ve got something for you.”

“Maybe something a little sweet,” Nia agrees. “Not to strong please.”

Vantissa uncorks a bottle of white elvish wine and pours her a glass. You eye it with strong curiosity as she puts it back on the top shelf and quickly take another long drink, knowing what your heart was set on next. You’d never have been able to afford such a thing back home, though the one pity sip you’d once been given by ol’ Russelby on your sixteenth birthday had only made you crave more of the delectably honeyed treat. “Undermount Moscato, coming right up. A classy drink for a classy lady.”

You nearly choke and spit your drink out in shock. “You know Undermount?”

“Oh sure, get a lot of the good stuff in from them. They still do a fair few exports in the big towns,” she shrugs.

You remember the rude elf from this morning and wonder if he was just dropping off a delivery as you nod your thanks and swallow a hundred more burning questions. You raise your drink towards your companions, and they join you. You can’t help but smile at Nia’s daintily raised pinky. “To new adventures, and to new friends,” you smile at both of them. “If I have to be stuck with anyone on a desperate mission to save my brother, I’m glad it’s you two!” You conclude sincerely. Gods, it really had been to long since you drank, and on an empty stomach! You were already feeling so light headed and infatuated by everything.

“May the Light continue to guide our passage!” Nia agrees with a thrill in her voice.

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Mal gives a boisterous nod. “Hear, hear!”

You clink your glasses together, and everyone takes a long drink. Nia’s mouth puckers up, and she squishes her eyebrows together. “Well, that certainly is uh,” she clears her throat. “Different.”

“And?” Mal prompts. “Different, good? Different as in, ‘Mal, I owe you my thanks for opening my eyes to the world of fine spirits’?” 

“I’m not sure about that yet,” she giggles, “but I suppose I can keep drinking until I find out!” You throw your head back laughing in delight, but she’s not done yet. “Also, my face is warm. Is my face supposed to be warm? But it’s a good warm. Or is it? Am I dying?”

“Easy there,” you reach over and lower her drink back down firmly onto the bartop. “Maybe you should slow down?” The glass is half empty, you're honestly impressed. “We do want you to actually remember the first time you drank alcohol.”

“Also, drinking on an empty stomach!” Mal smacks the side of his head, his stomach grumbling loudly in agreement with your, and you nodd firmly. “Vantissa, finest beauty there is, three rounds of your fried frog-apple-alligator legs!”

She nods from where she’s refilling a tankard for another patron in acknowledgement as Mal quicklys turns the tables on you while Nia’s still giggling and fanning her face. “And how about you Syrum? Tell me you got into more trouble back in that tiny town than planting poems!”

“Oh yeah,” you readily agree. “We got into all kinds of trouble. When Kade and I were seventeen, we came up with this crazy plan to get some wine off of a traveling merchant passing through. We pretended to be elderly wine connoisseurs! We got gray wigs we fashioned together from an elder horsedog, and Kade managed a fake mustache and everything!”

“That’s, that’s subterfuge,” Nia gasps, her eyes not even that glassy to be so shocked. You can’t help but laugh all over again, as her face splits into a hopeful grin for you. “Did it work?”

“Almost,” you agree. “The merchant had us sample all his wines, was singing his own praises, until Kade’s mustache fell off into his goblet! He was so tipsy, he fished it out and stuck it on the merchant's face! I was laughing so hard, I had red wine coming out of my nose!” Even as you try and tell the story through your laughter, it’s almost happening again with the orcish ale.

Mal chokes on his ale and slaps the table with tears of mirth in his eyes. Nia’s unsuccessfully trying to hide a peal of giggles behind her hands. 

“I gotta say,” Mal wipes at his eyes, “the more I hear about him, the more I like Kade!”

It’s the most touching thing he could have said to you. “You two would have gotten along,” you readily agree. Kade would follow Mal around like a lost puppy getting all of his stories, and under better circumstances Mal would have strolled into town and happily given them to his willing audience. You would have been right next to your brother, eating up every morsel of adventure he would have been offering.

In the far corner of Vantissa’s tavern, a bard strums her lute, tuning each string in turn, then launches into an epic ballad. 

“Oh, I love this one!” Mal cries, immediately tapping his feet on tune with the music. “Ghosts and dragons and sea monsters!”

You sway in time with the music, letting the dramatic saga wash over you. Patrons spill onto the dance floor, forming pairs and large circles as they move to the melody. 

“Sounds like a local favorite,” you chuckle in agreement. “I’ve never heard it before, but I love it already.” You take a last hearty sip of your ale down to the dregs and feel ancy to be thrown out to be honest, considering you’d never made it past this moment in your life. 

“What are you waiting for then?” Nia giggles. “You should get out there and dance too.”

“Okay,” you agree, “but I’m not dancing alone.” You offer her your hand.

Nia blinks a few times, flustered, but then she blushes and lays her hand gently in yours. “I’ll do my best not to stamp on your toes,” she promised.

“I won’t hold it against you,” you promise. “I’m not so great a dancer either. But I can show you what I do know.”

You lead her to the dance floor and position her hands in yours. Her arms are trembling, and you brush your thumbs over her knuckles to soothe her. “Are you okay? You seem nervous,” you ask anxiously.

“It’s just,” she’s blushing, but she looks miserable admitting it as well. “I’ve never actually danced before, and I feel like all I do is tell you about the things I’ve never done. You must think I’m so naive.” 

She had you right on the money on that one, but there was no need to tell her and make her feel smaller. You’re still a naive kit to the world at large when it came to everyone else as well, you’d hate for her to think you thought lesser of her for her sweet heart. “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with being naive,” you instantly assure. “You know what I love about it best?”

Nia raises her eyebrows, a glimmer of hope brightening her expression. You squeeze her hand in yours. “It means I get to show you all those things for the first time, and I consider myself pretty lucky for that.” 

Kade had been the only sibling you’d ever wanted, and neither of you ever really cared who was older or younger, you’d always been equal partners in crime. If ever you’d had a little sister though, Nia would fit the bill perfectly. 

You start swaying along to the music with her, not for the first time in your life dancing with a young girl. There had been three others roughly your age back in Riverbend, and they’d all danced with you at least once out of novelty, but you’d never felt any real affection for them once the thrill of something new had worn off. Wrenly Carrington had even brushed her bright red hair aside and given you a kiss on the cheek, but you’d only blushed and giggled with her, nothing more.

They were all like Nia enough, happy in their chores and giggling together and ignorant of anything other than what to name their babies one day and how to cook a mean stew. Kade had always been the long-distance lover of them.

No, those girls, like Nia, had been no Grenn. The confident strides as she walked straight up to Seria and pulled her close in the loud music, the way her arms were always glistening with water and muscle having just pulled a fresh hundred pounds of fish up to the market, her knowledge of every hook and net there was to know. It was a sad, pathetic, distant crush you’d only nursed in your time alone. Your brother hadn’t even the heart to mock you for it as you’d rarely said anything aloud.

Nia’s beaming at you, relaxing into your grip and swaying along with joy, her dress flaring up and doing more to add to the graceful scene than just the two of you slowly rotating around the other more rowdy bunches. 

“So, dancing, it’s not so difficult, really,” you hastily keep talking, worried your confidence would slip in the silence between you two. “You just step to the left, back, forward, right,” you continue leading her gently through the dance, the ballad unfurling around you. Though she starts out frowning in concentration, Nia soon lets out a laugh as she matches your movements. 

It had been days since you heard her laugh, she really hadn’t since Kade had either with the vorglin. Not since Vash had passed. “Syrum! Look! I’m really dancing!” She tips her head back, her hair swinging around her and nary a curl out of place as she enthusiastically leads you into the next turn.

“You see, you’re a natural,” you beam and laugh along. 

“I have a very good teacher,” she matches you smile for smile now along with the beat. 

You lead her in a slower turn as the bard plays into the next verse, but Nia’s gaze grows troubled as it rests on you. “Syrum, I have another confession. I’ve never actually been in a relationship with anyone before.”

Spluttering and now stepping on her toes, you can’t help but blush furiously at the sudden implication. You know it turns your skin a blotchy purple like a ripe fruit and you can’t do anything about it. No human girl had ever taken dating the local elf as anything more than a joke. It hadn’t occurred to you Nia might think something of this other than a friendly dance as you drop your hands. “Oh, ah, neither have I,” you hastily agree, fidgeting with the strap of your arrows.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized at once, “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” She stepped close to the edge of people ringing the wall, watching the festivities, wolf whistling and laughing at some of their more drunken friends.  You hastily follow. “It wasn’t forbidden among the acolytes or anything, not strictly, but, no one ever seemed interested in me.”

She’s gone glum, and you hastily want to reassure her. “Someone as amazing and kind as you? If they’d ask me, they wouldn’t know what they’re missing out on.”

Nia flushes, biting her lower lip. “When I do find that special someone, though, I don’t want them to treat me like a kid, or helpless, or…” she trails off in embarrassment, but you make sure to catch her gaze before she can look away.

“Hey, believe me, if you’re really with the right person for you, they’ll be thrilled no matter what.” It sounds ridiculous coming from you, Kade could have woven her a hundred tales of lovers…then you remember him describing her like a sugar cookie and do your best to swallow a laugh, or a sob. Your memories of him are already getting rose-tinted look…

Her cheeks are dusted pink. “Thank you, Syrum,” she smiles at you so gently. You remain in silence together as the ballad reaches its peak, the bard wails a mournful farewell to the hero as her strumming fades away, but you stand smiling together for several more moments. 

“We ought to get back to Mal,” you reluctantly remind, eyes casting around for him. He’s still at the bar having a merry time, but to your surprise you see his eyes flicker over as if checking on you two. It’s surprisingly comforting. 

“Right, right of course,” Nia swiftly agrees, giving your wrist one last squeeze of thanks. 

You head back over and she offers you the rest of her wine. “I’ve had more than enough.”

Taking it and sipping the sweet nectar doesn’t feel like the triumph you’d envisioned though as you swirl the last dregs at the bottom. You glance from Vantissa to Nia to Mal and try to get back that sense of giddiness, but it had faded as quickly as the melody. Kade might still have been trying to flirt his way with Nia, they might have been good together. He’d have hopped on that stage and tried to play one of his songs to treat the crowd, maybe he even would have finished his own original piece on the trip here.

You’re so tired of him being in your every thought, how someone who had once been a constant source of joy and companionship only made you miserable with every passing hour, but you don’t know how else to keep going either. This anger, this sorrow, all rooted into the one person you’d always relied on… ‘ resist the pull of darkness’ Vash had gasped with his last painful breath. Your brother must… must what?! If anyone could solve that puzzle, it would be Kade…he was waiting for you…

After a few more rounds of drinks with Mal making very lopsided conversations with Nia gasping at all his past revelry nearly on tune, they seem to decide it’s at least closing time for your group. You leave the tavern with a farewell to Vantissa, then give a friendly bump of your shoulder to Mal’s as you step into the fresh air.

“Thanks for dragging me out Mal,” you say sincerely. “That was fun, just what we needed to keep going.”

“And no one got stabbed or kicked out!” Nia’s still twirling in delight, a dance all her own to not let the fun stop. “Truly, the Light graced us this evening.”

“Priestess, did you just make a joke?” Mal gasps as loudly as possible.

“Clearly I’ve been spending too much time around you,” she giggled.

“Well, why stop now?” Mal throws his arms wide to take in the expanse of all the buildings still lit bright. “The night’s still young, plenty of more taverns we could get kicked out of, or…” he trails off suggestively as you round the corner, but you don’t get a chance to hear what else could possibly be on his mind.

You find yourselves blocked in the alleway, facing down five men wielding crossbows aimed right at the three of you. “Stop right there, all of you!” The one in the middle needlessly shouts, as you’ve all frozen solid in shock.

“Or enemies we can face in dark alleys,” you groan at now finishing Mal’s sentences.

Mal raises his hands in surrender and at once steps to be in front of you both. “We don’t want any trouble fellas. Just enjoying a night out on the town. Why don’t you help yourself to my coin purse and let us be on our way?” It’s a practiced speech in every syllable.

OR BOLAS OR

But you're in no mood, and you know you’ll just bring theirs down, possibly even start a fight with Mal. You trust him enough at least not to let Nia get into trouble, he’s shown that much worth. “I’m exhausted,” it’s so clear in your voice, Nia’s already nodding in understanding. “But you two should have some fun, I’ll hold down the fort.” You wrap your knuckles on the bed frame.

“Suite yourself,” Mal shrugs. “Try not to get into too much trouble while we’re gone.”

You wave them off as they leave. As you bring your hand back down, Threep takes a playful swat at it.

“I thought you were asleep you little scoundrel,” you smile down at him, a true one, as you rub your hand down his warm side. “You know, for a creature as wise as yourself, you’re a playful little thing.”

Threep bounces up on his hind legs, wings flapping frantically, but he can’t quite get the lift he needs to do whatever it is he’s trying to do as his wings flutter about before tucking back in. “Even nespers can appreciate the importance of play. But it behooves us to be dignified about it.”

“Dignified huh?” You chuckle. “But are you able to resist, this?” You produce a ball of twine from your bag and roll it across the bed towards him.

“Please,” he remains in place, his eyes on you, but you're already grinning in triumph as his tail gives a small twitch. “I am an ancient being of boundless wisdom. I will not be tempted by that….that…” he pounces, tearing into it.

“Yeah, I thought so,” you grin. You bat the ball back and forth with Threep for a little while, disentangling him from the unraveled twine when he gets caught. He’s purring up a storm the entire time. It’s a soothing noise that makes something tight clenched inside you since the library relax. Friends…the words echoe strangely in the back of your mind as your thoughts travel back to Riverbend. Kade had been your brother, and nobody had ever questioned you both saying as much. 

People had always been something to you. The kind baker, the rough constable, the stern barkeeps, the farmers who offered you food in exchange for help. Villagers, people you knew…but not…friends…

It had never once occurred to you to go back there, to tell Riverbend what had become of Kade. Aside from Sirena, the kindly herbalist who had been mentoring you, and even then, she had a niece to take over the shop. You were just, there, to show up for lessons you had to beg her attention for as she dealt with real customers and urged Grenn to get that hook slash mended. 

They would be sad, like their faithful oxendonkey dying before the fall harvest. Not so much a hardship, when you had a calf ready to be tied up to the yolk, but a sad passing all the same to mourn…that’s all you’d ever been to them… you’d always wanted to leave. 

It had never been malicious. Even now, every bone in your body wanted Kade back just to have that option to return home. But, would that place still be home? It occurs to you for the first time how different you already were…and what Kade would be like if- when you got him back…

A voice from the alley outside suddenly catches your attention.  “HEY! What do you think you’re doing?”

You rush to the window and peer down into the darkness. You can make out shapes in the street below… and a part of you isn't surprised to pick out Mal in the thick of it. Then your heart skips a beat as you see the pink of Nia’s dress and her wild hair right behind him. “Stay back, I’ve got this under control!” Mal’s telling her urgently.

They stand at one end of the alley, while at the other, several men brandishing crossbows close in on them. They’re dressed in full suits of armor, guards if you’ve ever seen them. The one in front says firmly, “stop right there, both of you.”

“Not to sound too alarmed, but it would appear our friends are about to die,” Threep says from the sill at your elbow.

A part of you wants to dive for your bow, but it wouldn’t do much good to that armor. So instead you scoop up him and it and rush downstairs to the alleyway, skidding around the corner. “Hey! What’s going on?” You demand.

Mal raises his hands in surrender at the men aiming, watching their swiveling points between him and you now carefully. “We don’t want any trouble fellas. Just enjoying a night out on the town. Why don’t you help yourself to my coin purse and let us be on our way?” It’s a practiced speech in every syllable.

A squat man in lavish clothing embroidered with fur and an enormous golden pendent across his chest pushes through his people. He’s got a pompadour hat that probably hides the rest of his thin brown hair poking out the back with a thin mustache. He brandishes a chubby finger at the three of you. “There’s no need for bribery, cur! I’m this fine city’s mayor, and you ruffians are under arrest!”

“Arrest? We aren’t criminals!” Nia protests, though she hasn’t moved out from behind Mal at those still drawn crossbows bristling all around.

“Round them up, men,” the mayor says as if she hadn’t even spoken, still wagging that finger around. “These bandits are wanted dead or alive!”

The men step from the shadows and move toward you, ready to bind your hands.

“We’re here on official business for the Temple of Light,” you wildly throw out, though you don’t back away one foot as you stay tense in place. “Escorting Priestess Nia Ellarious! You can send word to the temple in Whitetower if you doubt me. They’ll tell you who she is.”

The guards glance at one another. One of them addresses the mayor uncertainly. “Sir? Are you sure we’ve got the right people? She is dressed in priestess’s robes.”

“Only a clever ruse!” He scoffs, now wagging that finger directly in his guard's face. “Do as you’re told or I’ll have you arrested for insubordination!” His voice grows more high pitched the longer he shouts like a weasel squeaking orders.

Threep flutters from your arms up to your shoulder with a hiss, ears flattened back against his head. The deep, angry noise sends a chill down your spine, and it's not even directed at you. “Be careful! I sense Darkness on the mayor. Shadow Darkness. He’s a servant of the Court!”

“The Shadow Court is here?” Nia gasps.

The mayor draws a blade, lips pulling back in a snarl. Shadows billow around him from where he still stands beneath the building, doubling his stature. “Well now, I’m afraid you leave me no choice.” For the first time, he sounds menacing.

He lunges forward, but a figure drops down from the rooftops between you.

“Not so fast.” 

It’s the exact same elf from the market. 

A blast of magical energy erupts from his hand, sending the mayor’s men sprawling with groans of pain.

The mayor remains standing, blade at the ready. He glares at the other elf, who stares back coldly, stoic features arranged in an expression of loathing that makes the look he gave you seem like a mild lip curl now.

“Well, well. You want to fight?” He twirls the blade expertly without concern. 

“Gladly,” the elf says without shifting his stance one muscle.

The mayor lunges again, but the stranger deftly side steps, hair whipping around as he spins behind his target. Quick as a shadow, he draws a slender sword strapped to his back, and decapitates the mayor.

Nia screams as the man’s lifeless body thuds to the ground.

“You, you’re the guy from the market earlier!” You can’t help but state the obvious as the head rolls sickeningly across the ground. “What is going on?” 

“Now is not the time,” he says without a trace of emotion in his voice as he draws a kerchief from an inside pocket and wipes clean his blade. 

Behind him, the mayor’s men stagger back to their feet. His gaze sharpens on them, and he flicks the blood off the tip of his blade he hadn’t yet gotten to. “Run.” He says simply.

[stringoflights93]

I've been slowly drawing all the eeveelutions I hope you like them ☆☆

[stringoflights93]

Chapter 2: Of Loss and Legends

The Temple of Ellara was as far as you’d ever been from Riverbend. Upstream of the river, it was a place of great gossip, rumors, old wives tales…and a secret wish of yours for the past year of your life. Your village had been very tight lipped about its existence to you, but one drunk night someone had finally let it slip. An ancient Elven temple, ripe for the empty knowledge you held…but it was always one thing after another of why you couldn’t go. Hunting and chores and then Kade got a cold and then needing to thatch the roof and on and on. 

Kade had been of no help when he’d heard, he was already convinced it was cursed. Neither of you knew anything about the Light’s teachings, at least not enough to use that as an incentive either, but none of that had ever quelled your mind.

You’d imagined it so many times, walking in front of this place as the sun broke out, breathing in the first real connection you might ever make to your past, a people you knew nothing about….The stone steps had never been drenched in blood in your imagination.

“Gods have mercy!” Scholar Vash’s voice trembles and catches in his throat.

“Grenn…Angus…” You say their names again, but it doesn’t shake any of the horror loose.

“Oh no,” Nia’s voice is a whisper. She kneels down beside Angus’ body, her eyes glimmering with tears. Her lips move in a silent prayer. A faint golden glow surrounds her, and a warm breeze rustles the overgrown grass…but then fades away. “I can’t help them. They’re gone. Beyond the Light’s reach.”

You hadn’t even the time to realize she was trying to heal them before that was dashed away. “I can’t believe this. We saw them alive just last night…” Who was going to tell Seria that Grenn wasn’t coming home?... who was going to chase them across the square and shout about them under everyone’s feet…

You’d known death in the village before. Boating accidents, old age, kids who didn’t come back from the forest. It was rare, but it happened. This was brutal. This was like nothing you ever could have imagined from just up the river…

“-that adventurer, Mal! You don’t think,” Kade suddenly gasps, looking around carefully and holding his instrument tight.

“Mal didn’t do this,” you say at once, swallowing your bile and assessing the scene past the drying blood. Arrows were lodged all over the place in the trees and a tossed aside shield, the fletching red and white. 

Though they hadn’t seen the wanderer with such a weapon, it wasn't impossible he’d lured them here for a trap…but what reason could that be? Whatever meager treasure the town might have had wouldn’t be here, nor ransomed in the span of time. “I can’t know for certain, but I don’t think this was his doing. There’s nothing in it for him. Neither Angus nor Grenn had anything worth stealing.”

“Yeah,” Kade’s white knuckle grip almost slackens again, the new lack of strain on the instrument leaving a strange hum in the air. “I agree, I don’t think this was him.”

“But then, where is he? And who did this?” You can’t help but ask the obvious follow up, spotting nothing of another trail through the battle. 

Scholar Vash paces around, shaking his head. “This is an affront to the Light! A blasphemy! Whoever is responsible has desecrated a place of worship. A holy place!”

“Syrum, what should we do?” Kade’s voice is a hair past shaky, he was trying so hard to hold it together.

So were you. You swallow and remember all the time you put in with Seria at the local apothecary, the closest person you had to a healer in your village. You’d always had a natural talent of picking out the subtle differences in most plants. You’d been around all manner of cuts and bruises and broken bones before…though you’d never accompanied her on visiting a dead body…but it was time to jump that particular hurdle as you knelt down. “Their wounds are bound to tell us something,” you murmur mostly to yourself.

Examining the blood-soaked slashes in Grenn’s tunic and all over her arms, you decide, “she was shot with arrows. Multiple times. From different bows too, by the look of it, see how mismatched some of these tears are, and a lot of these shafts ran deeper than others.” It was hard to swallow and breathe, but your years of hunting left you confident in at least this.

“She must have suffered so much,” Nia’s tone is pure sympathy and sorrow for two people she’d never met. It bolstered your confidence as you nodded and moved along. 

“Angus, he went quick. A single blow to the head, it looks like. Some sort of mace.” Using only the tips of your fingers, you gently rotate his head, but bile’s rising fast in the back of your throat at the disturbing way the bones shift unnaturally under the skin, and the lack of tension in his neck feels so wrong. “His skull is nearly caved in. Whoever did this, they’re strong as hell.”

“So, multiple attackers. And one of them is strong as hell. Not loving this at all,” Kade murmurs. You wonder if he’s thinking same as you, the fierce pack of wood orcs that supposedly haunted all the shadow realms. That owlbear was only the tip of everything that lived outside of your little village. “Do you think this has something to do with the relic?”

“Speak clearly now. What relic?” Scholar Vash’s voice is only slightly more steady now, but he’s still leaning on a rock for support. You feel a rising sense of anger at him, unfounded and unfair, that you’re handling this better than someone his age. What had all his travels brought him?

Kade says swiftly, as if being called out. “I don’t know! It’s just something Mal said back in town. That he had a tip there was a powerful ancient relic, and he was going to find it.”

“Then it’s true,” the old man strokes in worry at his beard, putting a few strands of blood in the mix as his hand peels away. “I had hoped it was just a myth, but by the Gods above and below, it must be true. I believe there is an ancient artifact hidden deep within this temple. Forgotten to time, relegated to legend. An Onyx Shard.”

“Seriously? The Onyx Shards are real?!” Kade swings around and faces him with full attention. 

You frown between your brother and this stranger knowing something you don’t. “Kade, what's he talking about?”

“They’re the last relics that the Shadow Court left behind after the Great War. Cursed artifacts of terrible power. Very, very, very bad stuff.” Kade is shaking his head frantically by the end and eyeing every new shadow all over again. 

“When did you-” you begin to ask, but are cut off.

“I came upon the locations of the Shards in an ancient text last year. Seeing these bodies here, I may not be the only one who knows their location…” Vash’s voice trembles off in fear, but your suspicion is starting to get the better of you as you continue watching between him and Kade. Their travel and arrival near your quaint little town seeming more suspicious by the second. “Please! If whoever did this is after the Shard, we need to protect it. We can’t let it fall into the wrong hands!”

You share a look with Kade, noting his reluctance, and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. A life-time of conversation passes between you. Then you look back at Vash. “We’ll accompany you inside to get this Shard. But if we bump into whoever did this, we’re all running. Understood?”

“Let’s just hope we find it before they do.” The old man moans, adjusting his glasses and rushing forward.

Nia takes a deep breath, clenches her fists, and follows him without hesitation. The two of you quickly overtake them to lead the way through the main archway onto the temple grounds, the rubble cloaked in moss and choked by vines. Ancient covers everything you’re seeing. Trees are growing right through the walls, the place smells of damp earth somehow more pungent in the thick stone walls than outside. Inside the courtyard is a vast open space, with carved out massive arches for pedestals to hold all manner of strange looking pillars that honestly looked like pots stacked on top of each other to you.

What were they supposed to represent? 

The history in every uneven patch of stone around here…the stories this place could tell…

“This place isn’t in the best shape, is it?” Your lovely brother, always there to point out the obvious. 

“Once it was majestic. Regal. Packed day and night. Have we truly fallen so far from the Light?” Scholar Vash’s voice sounds as grave as you feel. 

The temple feels lifeless, with no signs of the assailants. You see two pathways ahead, branching left and right each. Their stones are much smoother and aligned, seemingly to coat them much less than your surroundings. “Something feels off, be careful where you step.” You caution the others, not much for the idea of turning out like Constable Angus. 

“Syrum?” Nia’s voice is soft, gentle, still laced with terror. You appreciate her caution at least, Kade and the Scholar certainly weren’t doing much for keeping their voices low. “What should we do?”

Her relying on you makes your back straighten. You might not be an accomplished adventurer, but you’re not going to let them down. You crouch to examine the floor tiles at the mouth of the leftward passage. One tile rises an inch above the rest, and gives slightly when you touch it. “That’s a pressure plate if I ever saw one. I think this way’s boobytrapped.”

You examine the rightward passage, detecting a faint groove in the floor tiles, like centuries of feet have worn at the stone. “The right path looks well-traveled. Let’s see where it leads.”

Following the right path without question behind you, it begins to slope downward, spiraling in on itself. Soon you're in complete darkness, all of your hands tracing the wall and taking each step cautiously just to keep a sense of yourself. No one dares mention lighting a torch though, not knowing what’s at the bottom. “Gods, how deep does this thing go?” Kade whispers behind your ear.

“Only the top level of the temple was open to the public. The lower levels, the catacombs, were for the priests and priestesses.” The old man’s voice is still more reverent than as low as you’d like it to be.

“To study and pray?” Nia prompted.

“And, to hide away the dark,” he sighed.

You try not to let a chill crawl up your spine as you reach the bottom of the path, deep below the complex. A stone door stands before you, but it’s been cracked. You squeeze through the opening and find yourselves in a vast chamber piled wall to wall with ancient treasures. Your mouth falls open, barely able to wrap your mind around what you’re seeing.

Heaping gold as far as the eye can see, smothering chests, overwing practically out of the walls. Coins and crowns and shields and vases. The lit braziers glimmered off it all merrily.

Kade’s voice is hoarse with envy. “I can’t believe this has been here all along! If we’d explored this place ourselves, we could’ve become ri-” He catches Scholar Vash glaring at him. “Ri…diculously pious adherents of the, Light…” He finishes elegantly. You poorly smother a snort of agreement.

Vash approaches a pedestal scattered with golden chains and goblets. He plucks a large green crystal the size of a watermelon from the pile. 

“That is distinctly not onyx,” you say, watching him carefully. 

“No, it’s not the Shard, but it’s still quite fascinating. I must bring it back to Whitetower with me for further study.”

“Uhuh,” you mutter. Yet he seems genuine, as he only tucks that away in his belt and nothing more, though his eyes shift about curiously. You wish you could interrogate him still…perhaps even go to visit Whitetower with them.

Everyone is distracted looking at the treasure. Even Nia is gawping over a jewel-encrusted old tome. 

“How was this here all this time and no one ever robbed it?” Kade murmurs, still rooted to the entrance beside you as the other two wander farther in.

“Maybe they were too pious,” you snort. Kade gives you a dry look. 

“I’d like to believe that,” Nia agrees cheerfully, clearly missing the sarcasm.

“No one knew it was here,” you say more seriously. “I mean, we lived a day away and we had no idea.”

“Yeah, well, it’s pretty, but I don’t like it one bit,” Kade sighs. “If the people who murdered Angus and Grenn weren’t after this treasure, then what are they doing here?”

“The Onyx Shard,” Nia gently reminds, dred plain in her voice for even speaking of it.

“We’d better keep moving,” you say, readjusting the strap of your bow and setting your shoulders.

At the far end of the room sits a heavy wooden door, fortified by twisting metal runes. Scholar Vash examines it closely. “Ah, yes!” Even in his excitement his voice wobbles a bit with that strange accent to your ears, forcing you to concentrate on his words to understand them. “The ancient elves often used elaborate mechanisms to lock their secrets away. I’ve alway wanted to solve one. They test your deep knowledge of elven linguistics!”

“That sounds, riveting,” you say with all the bitterness in you for having no hope of answering it then.

“Seems quite simple, if I just press this, and turn this,” the old man’s muttering to himself now.

Nothing happens.

“Ah, well, I may need a moment.” Scholar Vash assures, but there’s a tinge of doubt in him now.

While Vash futzes with the panel, Kade coughs, drawing your attention. “Psstt, Syrum,” making you chuckle at his poor and obvious showing of subtlety. “While he’s busy with that, what do you say we keep scoping out this treasure chamber? I think there’s some hidden rooms down the back! We could go check them out, see what else this place has to offer.” The excitement in his voice is infectious. 

“Ooooh! I would be interested in that! I thought I saw some fascinating statues!” Nia instantly agrees, surprising you away from thinking of her as just a timid mouse quite as much at least.

A large part of you wants to stay here. To glean any figment of knowledge you can from Vash’s superior knowledge of elf ruins…but his casual brush off earlier still stings. You can do this, you can prove yourself worthy of knowing!

“Let’s do it!” You instantly agree. “That sounds way better than just sitting around here. Let’s take a quick look around and see what we can find.”

While Vash continues tinkering with the door, now rubbing some kind of dry powder over the joints, the three of you head deeper into the vault.

“So, Nia, why is all this treasure here?” You ask, she seems at least more approachable than her fastidious mentor.

“These are offerings. Believers used to bring them as tribute to their Gods.” Nia said, still brushing her hands lovingly over the gold…and for no greed in her heart you can hear.

“So, like, bribes?” Kade chuckles. “People paying off the Gods to grant them fortune and favor?”

“No!” Nia’s clearly stunned we could reach such a conclusion. “Not like that at all. The offerings are given voluntarily, with no expectation of reward.They’re a reflection of gratitude, of thankfulness.”

OR BOLAS OR

“Huh, seems wasteful,” you’re in complete agreement with your brother’s eye roll.

“Wasteful?!” Nia gasps.

“I’m just saying,” you insist your point. “Think of how many people this gold could feed. Think of how many sick, and wounded, and vulnerable, it could provide for.” You unconsciously move closer to Kade, your mind flashes to Grenn and Seria’s small apothecary and well-worn, threadbare nets and clothes. “Instead, it just sits here, lost and forgotten. Just another ruin.”

Nia pauses, deep in thought. “I do see your point. There is much practical good that could come from this wealth. But there are other concerns than the material.” Her voice is tender, as if she’s suddenly speaking of her greatest love. “Faith and devotion, for example. It’s not enough to live, it’s a question of what you live for.”

“Tell that to everyone who’s starving,” you don’t bother keeping the bite out of your tone, not following in the slightest.

OR BOLASBOLAS

“Huh, seems admirable,” you admit, the idea of giving up something and expecting nothing in return was rather common in your life, considering how the village had always cared for you.

“You think so?” Kade gapes, obviously not having the same impression.

“Imagine believing in something so much you give up all this wealth for it. Feeling so grateful that you’d offer your treasures just to express thanks,” you admit. You’d never much considered religion, it was spoken of rarely in Riverbend, but Nia’s utter awe of it made you at least curious to hear more. “It’d be nice, or so I imagine,” if you had anything to give up, you might even place it down…or perhaps more realistically go back to the village and throw it in the well? 

NIa turns to you and smiles warmly. “It is.”

You smile back without a moment of hesitation now.

Kade’s still looking around, shaking his head. “I know rationally I should be way more scared given we’re in an ancient temple and we just found two people brutally murdered, but I still can’t really believe this is happening! We're on an adventure! A real adventure! Imagine what an amazing story this’ll make!”

“You really love telling stories, don’t you Kade?” Nia’s smile is just as friendly and warm on your brother.

“Well, yeah.” He shrugs. “Stories are really important to me. They’re how I see the world.” He hesitates for a second, an oddly sentimental expression on his face. You’re surprised, and touched he’s going to tell Nia this story before he awkwardly clears his throat and explains; “I was a really sickly kid. Bedridden till I was six. On the brink of death. Stories were all I had. I read every book in town. And when I ran out of books to read, I started writing them.”

“Kade was a, precocious kid,” you add in with warm nostalgia. Those weren’t happy times to look back on…but they had shaped you immensely in the aftermath.

“I always thought that was how I’d live life. Syrum was the adventurer, the dreamer. I was happy just to read about things like that,” Kade happily agreed. “But maybe I misjudged myself. Maybe I can be someone who goes out there, who has adventures, who sees the world. Maybe I can be a hero.”

“Damn right you can, brother,” you cheer, slinging an arm around him. You’re not sure if it’s the feeling of life pulsing around you after having witnessed such gruesome deaths, the pretty girl, or the stack of treasure, but you're thrilled none the less if he’s going to start being even more outgoing than he already was! Kade might even dain to finish his own song rather than just singing one’s the locals loved.

“Look, over there, a passage!” Nia gasps.

You follow Nia into a vast hall lined with ancient marble statues, mostly crumbled. “This is a Hall of Gods! It must be hundreds of years old!” 

You gaze from one statue to another, taking all three in. One was a majestic elven goddess that easily draws you in and you instantly yearn to know more. The other was two lovers, intertwined in an act you wished you hadn’t walked in on in the past. The last was a dark-winged warrior that gives you chills to look upon…. Yet it draws you in for a closer look. It’s at the far end of the room, looming ominous on its pedestal. A winged monster clutching a spiked club. Nia follows you warily.

“I don’t know this one, it isn’t one of the gods I recognize,” she seems personally upset by this, frown lingering about her face much deeper than you’d think it should be.

“You don’t know all the gods?” You know you sound like a jerk but can’t help it after all their talks on the way here.

Nia doesn’t seem unwilling to explain at least, but her tone is still unsettled as she speaks. “If you go back far enough you’ll find different pantheons and interpretations, but I’ve never even heard of one like this.”

You stare up at the warrior's brooding expression, the way his marble eyes seem to shimmer with hate. “I don’t like it.” Nia’s mood is, still, infectious, and you find yourself growing just as uneasy the longer you stare.

“Me neither,” she agrees, twisting her fingers into her dress.

You purposely turn away to another one, and find your eyes landing on the two lovers next. Hoping to cheer her up, you ask, “and that one?”

It’s elegant marble, and as you draw closer you see it too depicts elves, their bodies in carnal embrace. To your great surprise, it’s hard to distinguish if they’re male or female, the features purposely twisted to only show their enraptured expressions in each other.

Nia again followed you and is taking a closer look. Her smile is back, lighting up the room. “These are The Lovers, Ittar and Bakshi. Two souls that form one god. They represent love, passion, connection.” 

The two of you stare at the statue, and you admire its attention to detail, the way Ittar’s fingers dig into Bakshi’s thigh, the way Bakshi bites their lip as they pull Ittar close.

“This is, um, a very detailed statue,” Nia stammers in a blush as if just realizing she was admiring it with a stranger rather than an old scholar lecturing her on their sphere of godliness. She takes an awkward step back. You look over to see her looking down in embarrassment, cheeks flushed deep.

“Yes. Yes it is,” you chuckle. It does bring up awkward memories and a longing you’ve never let yourself feel for any of the humans in your home as you turn away.

“And this one?” You want to take her hand and drag her over, but instead set a brisk walk and know she’s following now. 

It’s a towering elven woman, a sword in one hand and an infant in the other. Nia’s instantly at your side, surveying it again. You already know by the smile on her face, you’re going to get a good answer.  “That’s one of my favorites. Nifara. The Mother. The giver of life and the creator of laws. She’s stern and kind, loving but forceful. She nurtured the first life into creation, but she'll just as quickly punish those who take it.”

“I like her,” you instantly whisper, a mother you’d never known blurring with those you’d been watching for years.

“Hey, want to see something hilarious?” Kade burst into your line of sight with a grin. He holds up an old ceramic vase with a creepy painted face on its side, but as he tries to copy its expression, it slips through his fingers and shatters.

…”Oops.” Kade mutters.

The shards shake and rattle, and a spectral shape bursts out, lashing through the air with tendrils of smokey flame! It’s a ball of pure shadow, demon red with carved eyes and a face sneering at you as it hisses with an echoing laugh that makes your blood freeze.

It might only be the size of your fist, but it is the single most horrifying thing you have ever seen.

“What the hell is it?!” You can’t shout, your voice is broken with stress as you fumble for an arrow. The creature pulses and swells, its hungry eyes boring into you. Panicking, you pick up a nearby torch and throw it, but the unlit wood passes harmlessly through it.

“Damn it!” Anger takes over as it lets out a deep, guttural hiss that no tigermoose could ever mimic in sheer fearsomeness.

“Wait a minute, I know what this is!” Kade yelps. “It’s a vorglin! I read about that in the Tome of Beasts that traveling merchant had! It’s a spectre that feeds off psychic energy, specifically fear!”

“So, what, if we feel another strong emotion? Could that drive it away?” You demand as you finally knock an arrow, knowing its useless, but your hands need to be prepared somehow.

“Yes!” Kade mercifully agrees with the theory, and your confidence bolsters more. “That just might work, think about something other than fear! Think of a time when you felt something intense!” 

It was hard for a moment, your brother’s voice shaking and clearly filled to the brim with fear, and the creature looming, stalking, circling the three of you with its face swirling in pure spite and still hissing every breath. You didn’t know if it could kill you, what it wanted, but you clench your jaw tight and force your mind to concentrate.

Grimacing, locking eyes with the vorglin’s flickering shape, you pull up your happiest memories. It’s hard to pull the right emotion with this thing twisting every which way, so against your better instincts you close your eyes and concentrate, remembering a day a year ago, a perfect day.

You and Kade had a great time at the Riverbend fair, you had impressed the blacksmith with your new arrowhead and won a prize. The whole town cheered, and you felt so loved and safe.

Hesitantly, you crack an eye open as the hissing finally begins to sputter off. The varglin is pulsing, gorging on your emotions. It lets out a satisfied wheeze, the deep red fading into a tinier wisp of black, gray, and white smoke like ash you wouldn’t notice flickering off the countless bonfires you’d sat around. Its eyes are rounded now, shrinking still more, and it lets out a sound disturbingly like Scholar Vash deep in thought. ‘Hhhhhmmmm….’

Something falls out of its body, landing with a hard thud. The varglin wavers, then fades away, vanishing into thin air.

Still shaking, hardly daring to believe that worked, you cautiously approach what fell out of the varglin and nudge it with the toe of your boot.

It is a golden sphere? “This is, solid gold?!”

“Then we’re lucky! When a varglin is fed emotions it doesn't enjoy, it transforms them into an elemental discharge. It’s usually iron or brass, but gold? Jackpot!” Kade yelps loud enough to draw ten more.

“Are you saying that orb is the creatures, waste?” Nia asked in disgust just as solid as the little ball, as large as the varglin had first been, the size of your fist.

“It literally craps gold,” you murmur.

You all share a look, and then you're laughing. It fills the room and encircles you all as if one last wisp of a gift in the air from the creature as you try and catch your breath and lean on each other. Kade picks up the orb and tucks it into his bag. “Are you all right with us keeping this, Priestess? It’s not an offering, and it might be worth quite a bit.” Kade asks after he’d tucked it away, typical.

“I, suppose,” Nia tries to say imposingly, but the smile still lingering on her face makes it obvious she’s trying for a joke.

“Now then, we should probably get back before Scholar Vash realizes we’re gone.” You try to manage around a lingering breathlessness, mimicking her mock severe tone.

Still chuckling, your steps lighter than air, the three of you head back to Vash, just as he traces a final rune and the door opens with a whoosh!

“There you go! A piece of cake, as they say! Nothing to it!” He looks back at you. “Thank you for waiting patiently and quietly. I do hope it wasn’t a bother.”

The three of you glance at each other. If another varglin appeared, it would probably instantly vanish all over again from the feeling of trying to smother all your laughter as you manage, “not at all.”

Vash gestures ahead, and you walk toward the door.

You leap ahead and throw your arm out first. “Wait! Does anyone else hear voices?” Your own is a raspy hiss now, joy instantly forgotten.

They wait a tense moment and shake their heads, so you lead the way, motioning for the others to stay back as you lead them into the next chamber. 

“What is that?” Nia heeds you, her voice barely more than a murmur.

Up a row of stairs raising to a diase, a glowing metallic box hovers above a pedestal in the chamber’s center. Segments of the box expand, rotate, and shift back in, like a puzzle working itself out. There are beautiful lines carved into it that never quite align with each other, some of the edges are pointed like enormous diamonds, others are curved and shallow like craters. You can’t fathom how it would look if it was ever put together, the way it moved itself was so natural. The bright blue glow is so strong, it leaves everything not in its reach feeling darker. The air around it shifts and warps with a low hum.

“The arcane energy field is still intact. Good, the ancient protection holds.” Scholar Vash mops at his forehead with a handkerchief.

“Err, translation?” Kade whispers, but you shush them both.

A group of burly men in rough leather armor enter from the far end of the chamber, battered iron swords hanging at their sides. The one in the lead has a mop of filthy blond hair pulled into a bun, his scowl darker than his beard covering half his neck. Their well-worn attire is covered in blood.

Your group quickly ducks into the shadows behind several crumbling columns. Kade whispers frantically to you. “Look at their swords! Is that blood?”

“I think we found our killers,” you agree, more anger pumping through you than you’ve ever felt in your life as Grenn’s lifeless form again flashes to mind.

The thugs approach the metallic box, but none of them seem to want to get too close, until a familiar face steps forward, moving toward the box.

“There it is, see?” Mal has bruises on half his face, blood of his own clotting the hair around his temple. “Just like I told you, now could you stop pointing that sword at my back?”

“It’s Mal,” you whisper to the others.

“That’s the adventurer you met? What is he doing with those men?” Nia says softly. You’d momentarily forgotten they’d never even met.

“He’s their prisoner,” you murmur.

The thugs’ leader raises his blade and levels it at Mal’s neck. “That’s not the deal. Work faster, thief, if you value your life.”

“The attackers must have kept him alive because he knows how to open that box,” you shake your head in warring disgust and anger as your mind flies to put it all together. 

Nia’s eyes widen in horror. “That poor man! Syrum, we have to help him!”

“We will once we get an opening. We need to figure out what they’re up to first.” You promise. Your draw time definitely isn’t fast enough to pick them all off before they come barreling over and slay you all. Your best chance is waiting for a better opening.

With a sigh, Mal approaches the box, squinting at it as it cycles through its shifting rotations. “Hmm,” he taps his fingers together in a thoughtful pattern, thumb to each digit over and over again.

The thug presses his sword to Mal’s back again, making him wince. “I said hurry up, scum! Open the chest already!”

“Don’t get your smallclothes in a bunch, friend.” Mal punches such venom into that word, you flinch. “I’m opening a two-thousand year old relic, not picking pockets in a bazaar. I know it’s hard to believe, but even Mal the Magnificent finds himself challenged every once in a while.” The posturing in his tone that had once so grated on you, you now find to be a full act. He’s stalling for time. Perhaps he doesn't even know.

“Mal the Magnificent?” The brute snorts in disgust.

Mal’s grin is the daring adventurer underneath the swollen skin and cuts. “Look, I’m workshopping it. Can’t commit to a moniker too quickly.”

“YOU WILL HURRY!”

The walls tremble, spilling dust as a hideous voice booms though the chamber. Shadows swirl and coalesce behind Mal, solidifying into a towering being made of shadow and metal. Like something straight out of a nightmare, or one of Kade’s stories. Fire is literally flowing out of the eye sockets, its helm is a jagged face of silver creeping straight up. Polished liquid metal shimmers with every pulsing blue glow. He sweeps forward, towering over the band of mercenaries. A giant blade strapped to his back crackles with dark energy.

“Light save us,” Nia trembles right to the crown like she’s about to kneel and pray for mercy. 

Next to you, Kade goes deathly pale, his hands trembling. “It’s, it’s Duke Erthax. A Duke of the Shadow Court…he’s real…he’s actually real…”

You can barely believe it yourself. “You told me stories about him, but didn't he die thousands of years ago?” You can’t possibly wrap your mind around this being the same from that actual legend.

“I’m telling you Syrum, it’s him! We need to go, now!” Kade has never sounded more serious in his life.

You nod, taking those legends as a warning to be heeded then, instead of some ghost story to laugh at ever again. “What did the legend say about Duke Erthax again?”

“He’s one of the corrupted elves who served the Dreadlord!” Kade’s hand around your bicep is painfully tight and trembling, like he fears you’ll vanish from his side. You vaguely recall now, it wasn’t a story you ever enjoyed hearing about the evils of what could become you in ancient times…or not so much ancient anymore.

Mal wriggles his fingers, waiting, then as two gears click into place on the chest, he swoops in and spins a dial. He had flinched and gone remarkably pale upon Erthax’s arrival, but didn’t seem particularly surprised. Clearly it was this presence holding him prisoner more than the thugs. “Getting closer now,” he murmurs to himself. There’s sweat on his brow, you can’t imagine how his eyes can even focus in the pulsing light, likely head injury, and the presence hovering at his back.

Erthax speaks, his voice deep and haunting like dust blowing out of a tomb. “Do NOT set off the trap, thief.” His voice doesn’t echo from his mouth so much as just, his center. His whole essence that still lets off ghastly black tendrils.

“I wasn’t exactly planning to,” Mal scowls, though a part of you wonders if that’s true. If he’d rather set off traps and make a run for it than open this thing…because then he’d surely lose his value to them.

He continues tinkering with the chest, a strand of hair falling over his eyes. He pushes it away, and locks eyes with you.

His jaw goes slack, you’ve never seen anyone more surprised in your life. There’s a lot of firsts going on in your life today.

You give him a wink and a grin, trying to convey as much as you can you want to help.

Mal smirks and winks back, as you hope with all your might he knows what he’s doing.

“The arcane field is fading!” Scholar Vash gasps behind you.

Mal locks one last gear into place and the force field shimmers away, giving you the slow, to late understanding that what your teacher is fretting over and Mal is purposely doing is one in the same as the chest’s lid glides open, bathing the chamber in an eerie teal glow.

“Now, what do we have here?” Mal’s grin is as pompous and smug as ever. He reaches inside with a cloth-wrapped hand and carefully lifts out a rough black gemstone. Shadows swirl within its heart, making your stomach churn.

The Onyx Shard. There is no doubt in your mind.

“There is it, at last! Give it to me!” Duke Erthax holds out his hand, much to your surprise.

“Sure thing,” Mal’s smirk, you now know for certain, is a warning. “But first, I thought you might like, THIS!” He slams his fist into a button on the side of the chest. Arrows shoot from the walls, skewering the thugs holding him captive.

Each goes down with a roar of pain, and you feel a vindictive sense of righteousness, hoping the one who killed Grenn suffered.

As the thugs fall, Mal charges toward your hiding place, still clutching the gem. “Go, kit! Gogogo!”

“FOOL!” Duke Erthax’s booming voice is no laughing echo from a drum like you’d once imagined. It is real, it feels like doom. He fires a bolt of darkness your way.

The shadowy blast clips a nearby column instead, sending stones flying. Mal dives, narrowly avoiding them with an ‘oof.’

The Shard flies from his hand and skids across the temple floor, coming to rest right in front of you and Kade.

“You’re not getting your hands on the Shard today, Erthax!” Your brother’s voice is terrified, but there’s a defiance in his eyes the likes of which you’ve never seen as he bends-

“Wait! Don’t touch it with your bare h-”

Mal’s shout is to late. Kade’s lunging for the stone.

As his fingers close around it, the Onyx Shard pulses with violent energy. The air warps, stretching, writhing with shadows that wrap around Kade. “Syrum!” He tries to jump back, towards you. You’re already reaching for him too-

But there’s a shattering noise, like the air itself is splintering with a thousand panes of glass, and Kade vanishes from sight with a last cry of pain as he’s sucked into the void.

Your hand is left grasping nothing but air as the Onyx Shard clatters back to the ground, with Kade trapped inside?!

“KADE!?”

“The Shard, it’s taken him,” Nia’s still on the ground, her eyes wider than should be possible, struggling to wrap her mind around this. 

“He’s in the Realm of Shadow now. There’s nothing we can do for him!” Vash agrees.

There is no time to think, to hesitate, to do anything. Their words are white noise to the pounding, crystal clear feeling of loathing burning through you as you stare at the Shard. Your empty, outstretched hand still waiting to pull Kade free… before turning on them. “I’m not leaving him!”

You rip off a chunk of your shirt and fold it once, making sure not to let a single bit of light glimmer off its ominous black surface on your skin. It feels hot and cold all at once, pulsing with a strange energy, but the cloth keeps you safe.

“Good thinking, now RUN!” Mal’s there, hands on your shoulders, shoving you towards the exit. 

“ENOUGH!” Shadows spiral from Erthax’s palms, knitting himself into a pair of slavering, snarling shadow hounds. 

Normally an animal lover and a great respecter of nature, these meances do not care how much of a good boy you might think they were otherwise. Their shapes harnessed together in the same smokey black and red energy straight from Erthax’s source, with horns protruding from the back of their head and very real teeth. They roar at you, approaching on feet somehow clawed and cloven all at once.

“Oh come on, he can do that!?” Mal seems more outraged than afraid, letting go of you to look over his shoulder more properly.

Nia grabs your wrist and continues the pulling game forward instead. “We can’t stay here Syrum! We have to go!”

You race through the treasure room with Nia and Scholar Vash, Mal following close behind, the shadow hounds even more closely than you’d like with menacing growls that do not cease.

“It’s no use, the hounds are gaining!” Nia wails.

You wish for Kade. Your hand grasps the gem hard enough you fear it’ll rip right through your shirt. You know he’d know some story or trick to evade these things- up ahead, you see a low-hanging beam blocking your path. You duck low, sliding under the beam with ease, your bare skin catching on the rough ground, your shirt and pants tattered ruins as you roll easily back to your feet and keep running without breaking stride.

“Quick thinking,” Mal praises, having pulled the same stunt with the same ease.

Nia and Scholar Vash aren’t quite as agile, but highly motivated to lunge and crawl for all their worth to keep up. 

The hounds aren’t intangible, they have to crawl on their bellies to manage the same, yet sadly with more grace and agility than the old man had managed, so you hardly got any distance between you, let alone a hope you could attack them with a useless arrow going forward as you rush out into the temple courtyard, but a hound leaps down from a crumbling pedestal, teeth bared in a snarl.

You stare into those pools of ruby red eyes and feel a flare of hatred so bright hot, perhaps your own eyes glow the same color back as you clutch the Shard housing your brother to your heart.

“Beast of darkness! Begone!” Nia jumps in front of you raising her hands, and her fingers sparkle with the power of Light…but the spell fizzles out into a cloud of sparks.

“No, my bracelet,” she gasps, clutching her empty wrist as if just remembering.

The hound isn’t waiting for you to go back and do that sidequest now! It rushes at you, jaws open wide, teeth sparkling red-

“Get away from them!” Mal leaps onto the hound, plunging his dagger into its eye. It writhes, snarling, before exploding into a cloud of black smoke.

Heart in your throat, you can barely stutter a, “th-thanks-”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Mal’s scowl isn’t directed at you. You sprint across the stone, but as you round a corner, a hound pounces on Vash and pins him to the ground with its vicious claws.

“H-help, please!” The old man cries.

“Scholar!” Nia instantly wails, finally dropping your wrist and making to be towards him.

You snatch up a piece of rubble and hurl it right between the shadow hound’s eyes. It backs away from Vash, stumbling in a daze with a miserable ‘aawrp,’ noise that would normally break your heart. 

You follow it up by reaching for an arrow, intending to knock an eye clean out like Mal had…only to realize you’d dropped it. At some point in the confusion and chaos of picking up the shard, you lost your bow.

Before it can regain its bearings, you fling another piece of rubble at it, smashing in its head. With a miserable howl, the beast dissolves into shadow.

You’d carved that bow yourself. You could make another. Your fist cinches tighter on the Shard. “Quick, let’s go!”

Vash staggers up with a miserable ‘ooh,’ weak on his feet, his left leg torn and bloody.

“Here, lean on me, Mal, give me a hand on his other side!” You offer your shoulder.

Mal looks at you, Vash, and then at the exit, clearly thinking of just running-

“Please, help,” it’s as much an order as a plea as Nia trembles in front of her teacher, brushing furiously at her tears to see the damage.

He meets your gaze with an exasperated sigh. “Arrgh, I am going to regret this!” Mal rushes over to you, and you drape one of Vash’s arms over each of your shoulders.

“Nia,” the old man’s breath is rasping, his eyes only on his student, “we must get you to safety.”

“Don’t worry about me, Scholar. Let me tend to your wounds-” she frets, but before she can finish, a jagged black lance bursts out through Vashe’s center.

His ragged, choked throat manages a guttural, ‘aggggh!’

“No!” Nia’s shriek is one you’re still exhaling every time you don’t look around and see Kade.

Duke Erthax looms out of the darkness, dragging another lance against the stone. Sparks fly off the metal. “Mortals, you cannot escape the Shadow Court’s judgement.”

“Keep running! Go!” Mal shifts all of Vash’s weight onto you, to draw a dagger, twirling it as he turns toward the Duke.

“What are you doing?” Your knees buckle, your spine feels as if it might snap from the unexpected weight.

“You asked for help, yeah? So here I am, saving our lives! Every good treasure hunter knows how to dodge traps. But you can’t know how to dodge them without knowing how to set them off first!” Mal hurls the dagger.

His center is taught with power, his arms extended like a dancer as the blade flies off. Having used all his weight in the throw, he’s nearly lept off the ground, poised with a look of deadly glee on his face for the span of a singular moment as his hair whips around him in matted, bloody, tangled threads not deterring his aim in the slightest.

It blurs through the air, before embedding itself into the stone archway above Duke Erthax’s head.

Mal lands with a smug smile, and says, “boom.”

The temple rumbles, and the floor shakes beneath you. The archway, and then the entire ceiling, collapses right on top of Duke Erthax.

“NOOOOOOO!” The voice echoes now as if from a long ways off, the end of a long pit.

That was a trick you wished you could file away for later.

“Get those legs moving people! We’re officially blowing this joint!” Mal says, all cheer and bravado once more while the dying man groans in agreement.

Mal comes back and takes his side again as you flee deep into the forest, taking a circuitous route away from the main road to cover your tracks. As night descends, you stake out a safe clearing near a stream.

“All right, I think we’ve lost them for now.” Mal pants, sweeping his hair back from his face once more.

“Ugh,” Scholar Vash moans. It's amazing he’s even still drawing another rattling breath.

You and Mal ease Scholar Vash to the ground and prop his head up with a bedroll. He’s breathing hard, his skin clammy and pale from blood loss.

“Please Scholar, let me treat you,” Nia begs, already clasping his hand in hers. The one dwarves her two, his leathery old skin looks fragile in her smooth grasp like a pebble bursting out of the ground.

“Save your energy Priestess. These are no normal wounds. The rot of darkness has infected me.” He curls his fingers tightly around her, you know he’s trying to sound encouraging and kind.

“No! You’ll be fine! You just need your wounds cleaned and a proper night’s rest!” Nia chokes out.

Her grief is infectious as the adrenaline wears off, reality hitting you in a devastating rush. You sag against a tree trunk, your own grief threatening to overwhelm you. 

“Kade…” you gasp, and for the first time you can ever remember, there is no answer. He’s gone. He’s really gone. Trapped in that damned Onyx Shard. The vision you’d once held so clearly in your mind of him being by your side forever, never to return…

You can’t see the Shard in your grasp anymore, but you can feel it. Crackling in your palm, just waiting for its next victim. As you blink away tears, Mal starts to back away.

“All right then, seems like everyone could use some space. I’ll just set up camp and-”

“Not so fast ‘Mal the Magnificent!” You leap off the tree and glower up at him, at that tone, at those shifty eyes.

Mal groans. “I was improvising, okay? Trying to stall for time. Please tell me that’s not going to stick-”

“You better start explaining what’s going on here, fast!” You snape, cutting right through him.

“I don’t like your tone, kit.” Mal crosses his arms with a demeaning huff.

“I don’t care what you like! This ‘kit’ just saved your life!”

“What, back there? Please, I had it handled,” Mal releases one arm to twirl it through the air.

Fear and anger war in you as you try to change your tone. “Look, just, tell me what happened to my brother? Where is he? How do I get him back?!”

“How in the three hells should I know?” Mal frowns.

“Because you sure seemed to know a lot about the Shad back at the temple!” His warning a second to late, or if Kade even would have listened to him about not touching it…

“I’m a treasure hunter. That means I know where to find treasure, and I know you sure as hell don’t touch magical relics with your bare hands!” He throws both his arms up now at having to explain himself. “What it is or what anyone wants with it? I don’t get paid enough for that.”

“If you say so,” you cross your own arms now, unsure if you really believe him, “but you’re not going anywhere until we find out what happened to my brother.”

“And how exactly do you plan on doing that?” He snorts, not a drop of care in his voice one way or the other.

The plan comes instantly to mind, fully formed, as if you’d have been executing it right now if you hadn’t had to stop and catch your breath. “I think we should take the Shard to Whitetower with Nia and Scholar Vash. Surely someone there will know what to do.”

“Whitetower?” Mal scoffs. “No way, kit. I recovered the Shard at great personal risk. That means it’s mine now, to do with as I please. And I please to sell it to the highest bidder and put this whole mess behind me, preferably somewhere warm and with good drinks.” 

He even holds his hand out to you, as if that were the end of it.

You seize him by the collar and pull his face close to yours, the fact that he has almost a head of height on you meaning nothing as his shirt digs in. Your voice is surprisingly calm. “It’s not some lifeless artifact. That Shard is the key to getting my brother back.” You’ve never threatened anyone in your life, but your voice is pure disdain, unrecognizable.

You can’t help but think how horrified Kade would be if he heard you.

Mal’s eyes widen as he tries to wriggle out of your grasp. “Surely your, Temple of Light or whatever can find another key-”

“And if they don’t?!” You aren’t shouting, exactly, but you can hear the rasp of your voice growing tighter with fury. “As far as I’m concerned, you might as well have killed him yourself. So if you even try to take that Shard from me, I will spend the rest of my life making you pay for it you-”

“All right, all right! I get the point, no need to get all huffy!” He has his hands thrown up in mock surrender, but you can see it in his dark brown eyes. You’ve truly frightened him.

You aren’t exactly proud of it as you reluctantly let him go, and he brushes off his tunic. “I’ll think about it, all right? But even if I do help you, when I’m done, I’m getting back to my business, and I’m taking my Shard with me.”

You’re not even sure you want him around anymore as your fist clenches tighter than ever upon the Shard, you’re not even sure you can uncurl your hand from its fist anymore you’ve been clutching it so tight so long…but at the same time, you know you can’t do this with just a young girl all the way across the country. You need someone with experience around…even if you have to watch your back the entire time.

“Now,” Mal crosses his arms and clears his throat again as if nothing had happened, but you can see him still trying to subtly adjust his shirt to hide the red marks you left in his neck. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go get us some food.”

“By yourself?” You raise a disbelieving brow at the selfless act.

“Yeah?” He seems just as disbelieving in your disbelief of him like nothing ever happened. “I saw some good-looking berries on the way here. Figure I can get us something to eat.”

You instantly decide to join him, not wanting to let him out of your sight…though you glance hesitantly back at Nia. She has Scholar Vash’s head in her lap and is silently weeping as his eyes flutter closed more every moment. 

You don’t want to leave her alone with her grief…but that’s also why you do as well. Give her a moment to say goodbye to the poor old man without you hovering and uselessly worrying about how Mal could betray you next.

Best to stick to the Magnificent Turncoat for now.

Mal reads that look on your face before you even open your mouth. “No way kit, I work way better alone.”

“I don’t trust you alone,” you blandly remind him. “I’m coming whether you like it or not.”

“Come on! What’s a guy got to do to earn your trust anyway?” He laughs of all things like this had all been one game up to now and someone should have reset to the beginning.

“You could start by being honest, though I get the feeling that doesn't come naturally to you,” you spit.

“You’ve known me a whole half hour and you’re leaping to judgement?” He smirks.

“Am I wrong?” Your smile is tight and knowing.

He blinks, and his smirk grows. “Well, no.” He lets out an exasperated sigh. “Just keep an eye out for a leventree, would you? I’m dying for some ripe levenfruit.”

With that he turns heel and walks off, leading you deeper into the woods. Starlight glitters in the gaps of the leaves overhead, and ratowls hoot gentle lullabies.

You feel better, soothed, though still raw around the edges as you let one hand linger over the bark of trees you’ve known all your life…that somehow still feel alien to your skin without Kade beside you laughing about you trying to analyze its root system on nothing but knowledge you pulled out of your ass. “It’s so peaceful out here.” You murmur, mostly for yourself. “Hard to believe we were facing down a Duke of Shadow just a few hours ago.”

“That’s how I like it,” Mal’s batting branches aside and looks moments away from whistling as he swings his long arms around without caring what else he swats. “Thrills and adventure, with just enough time to catch my breath in between.”

You spy a cluster of wild mushrooms growing on the side of an ancient oak. “Hen of the woods. The tavern cook back home fires these up with some butter and herbs,” your stomach snarls ravenously, your mind spinning with excitement as if this were a hint of the universe spotting your favorite dish out here.

“You’ve been out of your town two whole days and you already miss it,” Mal huffs.

“Yes,” you say without hesitation, aghast at his dismissive tone. “Kade would be missing it even more, he-” your voice catches and you clear your throat. Turning away form Mal, you harvest the mushrooms and place them carefully in your satchel. You finally force your fingers to unbend and ignore the onslaught of fresh, hot tears that catch in your throat as you release the shard into there as well. Your hand feels empty now, but not from the sensation of that icy heat leaving you at last. You’re still waiting for your brother to catch it and pull him free. 

“So. What exactly do you do as a ‘treasure hunter’ anyway?” You ask briskly, anything to keep yourself from falling down and sobbing as you snap the satchel tightly closed.

“Planning to become my competition?” Mal laughs.

Everything’s a joke to him, and he clearly doesn’t care about a single thing that happened today. A small sliver of envy possesses you, as you manage a ghost of a smile back and mimic his tone. “I’m keeping my options open.”

“I mainly travel the kingdom, looking for relics from the Old Reign. Golden goblets in dusty tombs, gilded swords lying deep in ogre caves.” His tone is surprisingly open and flippant now, as if you were two friends meeting in a bar. 

If he’s trying to get you to let your guard down, it’s going to take more than that, even as your heart skips a beat with instant adoration for this possible story. “You’ve faced ogres?” You want to turn and exchange a look with Kade-

“I’ve stolen from them.” He laughs. “While they were sleeping, even I don’t have that much of a death wish. Sometimes I’m hunting down something specific for a collector, but usually, I’m chasing my own leads.”

“You make a good living that way,” you ask curiously, again noting his rather threadbare clothes, much more ragged than the hard working folks of your home.

“Good enough to pay the tavern bill, anyways,” Mal waves a dismissive hand.

He’s not in it for the money, no matter what he claims, you vaguely ascertain as you ask, “seriously?”

“What can I say? I’ve got expensive tastes,” he chuckles.

“Sounds like you’ve seen it all,” you murmur, another flash of jealousy coursing through you. This man is somehow everything you’ve ever wanted to be…and you’ve never wanted to be farther away from him. Never seeing Mal again would mean you’d be able to see Kade every day.

“Gods I hope not! What a depressing thought,” Mal’s laughter only grows. It reminds you of the three of you laughing after the varglin…gods if you’d known that was the last time you’d laugh with him- “The promise of new horizons, new adventures, new sights to behold and treasure to find!” Mal’s clearly not noticed your stew of misery, guilt, and anger brewing steadier than those mushrooms would as he continues on. “That’s all I live for!”

Once upon a time, you would have said the same thing. It makes your tone come out as harsh as ever. “Really? That’s it? That's all you have?”

Mal pauses, an unusually thoughtful glint in his eye. “...almost all.” He plucks a ripe meyberry from a bush and offers it to you.

You reluctantly take it and pop it in your mouth, murmuring, “thanks, they’re my favorite.” It’s gone in one gulp and you wipe away the juice from your chin with a small smile, even though the sweet taste isn’t hitting the spot like it usually would have. Everything seems, off, like you’d been the one transported to some other realm where nothing was as it should be.

Swallowing hard, you focus on Mal, at least that’s something new, something you can do, something Kade’s presence doesn’t ensnare every bit of you. “So. What exactly happened at the temple? What happened to Grenn and Angus?”

Not having Kade back at the village was going to be strange enough…a new deep pang pierces you as you keep realizing you are not going to make a detour home. You’re never going to be the one to give the news to Seria that Grenn isn’t coming back home. She’d just sit there every day and wait, and slowly realize same as you that nothing would ever be the same again-

“It was a paying job,” Mal’s dismissive voice cutting through your thoughts is beginning to feel comforting. You should be worried about that. “This collector from Cape Valen got in touch with me, offering a hefty purse if I got some piece out of the temple.”

“He didn’t tell you what the artifact was?” You ask suspiciously.

“Nope, just said it was an ancient artifact, very powerful, don’t touch it. I kind of stopped listening after that,” he laughs.

“Are you serious?” You almost want to stamp your foot, or slap him. Maybe you’d stopped strangling him to soon.

“Not when I can help it,” he shrugs. “So, I came down here, hired some local muscle just in case, and went to check the temple out. The Shadow Duke and his bastard squad hit us hard as soon as we got there. Took out your friends before we could even draw our blades.” There’s anger in his voice, but you have a feeling it’s more for being snuck upon than your dead. “They were going to kill me too, but I managed to convince them not to, on account of my being so devilishly handsome.”

You definitely stopped strangling him to soon. You fold your arms and raise one eyebrow at him.

“Okay, and the fact that I’m good at disarming traps,” Mal shrugs.

“And you don’t know anything else about the men who attacked you?” You frown.

“I got no idea, kit, and I don’t want to,” he rolls his eyes.

You chew and mull on him for a while as you continue your winding way through the forest at a safe distance apart, keeping your satchel on the side opposite him every time he finds a way to dart across your path.

OR BOLAS OR

“I think you’re telling the truth,” you grudgingly admit, seeing no reason he would lie now.

“Glad to see I haven’t lost all my charm,” Mal smirks, flipping his hair in a clearly practiced, suave motion. “I was beginning to think you were immune,” his grin turns, surprisingly flirty. You resist the urge to gag. 

“Charm has nothing to do with it. But it makes sense they’d want to keep you in the dark as much as they could,” you dismiss him, hopping lightly over a fallen tree. “If you knew what the Shard really was, and what it was capable of, no one in their right mind would want to recover that thing.”

“Well, I never said I was in my right mind,” Mal grins.

OR BOLAS OR

“I think you’re hiding something,” you finally say quietly, watching closely for a reaction.

He throws his hands in the air. “You can believe whatever you want, but I’m telling you, that’s all I know. Look at me, look at this face. Is this not the face of an honest, forthright man?”

You have no choice but to laugh at the absurd question. Covered in bruises, dried blood still maring half his face, and now leaves and twigs clinging to his filthy matted hair, you’d be terrified to meet this man under any circumstances. “Definitely not.”

Mal blinks, unperturbed. “Look, I’m no scholar, but I’m starting to get the idea that even I’m over my head on this one. If that Shard’s half as bad as it looks, I don’t even want to be on the same continent as it.”

“Not even for a hefty pouch of gold?” You ask in continued disbelief, you’re not letting your guard down no matter what comes out of his silver tongue. He might not have admitted to conning people for a living, but you wouldn’t put it past him to paint some fancy symbol onto a stolen goblet from a tavern and sell it to the highest bidder.

“Gold solves a lot of problems, but only if you’re alive to spend it,” he shrugs.

And you decide that that is the most honest thing he’s yet said to you….and yet if he cares about his own hide so much, why did he save the three of you…the four of you…

“A lot of the jobs I take are like that though,” he’s still talking, rambling to himself most like. “Someone with more money than sense wants some pretty trinket, or shiny chunk of the past, and they don’t want anyone else to know they have it. I didn’t think anything of it until those bastards attacked.” His anger’s back, of being lied to, of possibly even being ambushed.

You’re right there with him this time, your tone just as gruff. “And chances are good, if they know what the Shard is, they’re going to be pretty careful about covering their tracks.” As you step into a clearing, a majestic tree rises before you. The moon shines off of the large emerald fruits peeking out of its canopy.

“Jackpot!” Mal cheers. “A leventree! See those pretty fruits up at the top!”

“Hard to miss, they look as big as my head,” you roll your eyes.

“Juiciest suckers in the realms. Though it’s a real pain to get to them,” he looks meaningfully from you to the tree, grinning broadly, “unless you get someone else to do the work for you. So, think you can get them down?”

You can see why he doesn’t want to risk his neck for it, the tree's limbs are thin and not particularly sturdy, spaced far apart, and the leaves look roughly spun, the few dry ones crunching under your boot look razor sharp. 

You try to convince yourself you're not doing this to impress him…though if he has a good side, showing off your natural talents of being light on your feet might make you more valuable to him than a pesky kit…

“Out of my way,” you agree, shaking your hands out and stretching.

Mal laughs and backs away from you. “Okay, let’s see what you can do.”

“Watch and learn, treasure hunter.” You bounce up on your toes and grab hold of the lowest branch, then sling your leg around and hoist yourself over. You grin back down at him, the branch you're on barely swaying at all from your weight. “Pretty slick, huh?”

“Oh yeah, can’t wait to use what I just learned the next time I’m pretending to be a leopardmacaque.” Mal snorts.

“Forget it,” you grumble, ignoring Mal’s amused chuckles as you climb all the way to the top for the fruit. “Here we go,” you warn, reaching out for the first and all to tempted to drop it on his head.

“Make sure you get enough for everyone!” Mal calls up, surprising you enough your fingers still. Instead, you brush the jeweled skin of the levenfruit and stretch carefully, still gripping the tree and tug it free safely into your grasp. “Catch,” you call.

You chuck it down at Mal, who curses and stretches an arm out, barely catching it.

“Watch it, they bruise easily!” Mal grumps, cradling it safely in his hands.

You snort and toss another of the fat, ripe fruits down into Mal’s waiting arms, continuing until you clear this section of the tree.

“All right, I think we’ve earned ourselves a feast. You can come on down now,” Mal finally calls quits.

You descend the leventree’s branches and drop down to the ground in front of Mal, who looks impressed. 

“I wasn’t sure what to make of you at first, Syrum, but you’re pretty resourceful.” You startle, a thrill of pleasure rocking through you at him finally saying your name. His grin is a different kind of friendly even. “Who knows, someday you might even be as clever and crafty as me.”

You give him a friendly shove as you head back to the campsite, taking some of the fruit from him. “And maybe someday, you’ll learn a little humility.”

“Whoa, woah, let’s not get too ahead of ourselves,” Mal laughs.

Back at the clearing, Nia and Scholar Vash are both asleep by a roaring fire. Nia has bandaged Vash, and is curled protectively near him. 

You carefully set your fruit down and go over to inspect the elder man. You keep your voice a whisper so as not to disturb the pair as you gently peel back the bandages, thankfully seeing no sign of puss or inflammation… but he is still bleeding sluggishly. “He looks better now that he’s all cleaned up. Do you think…” You’d need a herbalist or at least someone with a steady hand who knew what they were doing to somehow stitch all of him back together and be good as new…

“Only time will tell if he’ll heal. We’ve done all we can,” Mal shook his head, tone surprisingly gentle. He takes a seat on a nearby log and motions for you to join him. “Might as well enjoy the fruits of our labor. They can have their share for breakfast.”

As you bite into the levenfruit, juice dribbles down your chin. It tastes sweet and tangy, so much richer than anything you’ve ever eaten before. “Mhm,” you groan in surprise. “These were totally worth the work.”

“I thought you might like it, and there’s one more neat trick I’ve got up my sleeve,” Mal gives you a wink and spits the pit of his fruit into a tiny cup, then holds it over the fire. It bubbles, pops, and dissolves into a shimmering rainbow fluid.

Your mouth hangs open, the taste of flames and fruit flooding your gaping hole. “What just happened?!”

“Most folks don’t know this, but you can melt down the pit of a levenfruit to get a salve. It’s a powerful medicine. Heals cuts right up,” he shrugs at this world shattering news. He pours it into a little bottle and hands it to you. His knee brushes the satchel, and you blink and lean away, but clutch the bottle tight. “Hold onto it, if you get injured, you can use it to heal up.”

You blink suspiciously from it, to Scholar Vash. It occurs to you for the first time those fruits could have been poisoned, that he’d done all this just to get the Shard away from you…but he’d eaten his own share…but why wasn’t he offering to use this on the old man’s wound…

A small voice scolds you as you swirl the beautiful colors around; that he’d just said it was used to heal cuts, not deep internal wounds like what Vash was suffering…and you’d never been such a suspicious person in your life before all this. Your home had been open, a place of calm serenity. Your hand tightens on the satchel, the key to your brother's life. Your village had never done you any wrong, but you were exhausted and paranoid and all of Kade’s old stories about evil wraiths and shadows coming to life had you so on edge today, feeling so unlike yourself…

“Thank you, Mal,” you say, meeting his eyes fervently.

“There’s so much wonder and beauty in the realms, Syrum. It’d be a shame if you didn’t experience it all,” he gives you a nod and a friendly cheers as he raises his fruit for another bite.

You enjoy a few more bites in silence as you stare off into the darkness of the forest. It would be a shame not to experience the world, but…”I only wish Kade could be here to enjoy it with me,” you can’t stop the broken whisper. The first new food you’d ever eaten in your life…you had a horrible feeling there would be a lot more firsts without Kade on this journey…

Mal reaches out for your shoulder, but stops himself at the last minute. His voice gains an edge of seriousness. “We’ll get your brother back. I’m sure of it.”

“I hope you’re right,” you whisper, curling the bag into your lap and sitting like that long after the fire burned out and Mal lay down to sleep as well.

…the next morning, you awaken first at sunrise, jolting upright from your uncomfortably tight ball against your log, the satchel still safely in your lap. Mal rests against a distant tree, keeping watch, while Nia and Vash rest gently on their bedrolls.

“Poor Vash,” you murmur, hearing his wet, struggling breaths from several feet away. You stretch out, and that’s when you notice something lying, half-concealed in the brush, a small old tablet.

Something about it calls to you, promises an ancient mystery unraveled. Your eyes skim over it, not daring to touch it as words jump out at you. You realize it’s about orcs, humans…and elves!

You instantly snatch the stone white marble into your hand. It’s mostly smooth stone around the edges of all except one, which is jagged. One side feels heavier than the other, and you flip it over in surprise to see the embossed face of something resembling a dragon, with a long lionish mane and a jagged beard of hair on its chin. Most of it depicted was his face and neck with just the hint of other body parts broken off, it was clearly cracked.

Running your hand in amazement over the ancient beast, you eagerly flip it back over and begin to read, surprised to find it in a language you even understand.

Tracing your fingers along the small, smashed together script, your eyes land instantly on the word that had leapt out at you, as for the first time in your life, you read all you could ever want on elves.

It’s in subsections, their characteristics, culture, and history. Heart trembling harder than your finger struggling to keep its place, you swallow and make the decision to start at the beginning, or the end in this case.

The elven empire was once the greatest in the world, a glorious civilizations spanning Morella and beyond. For a thousand years, elves lived in peace and prosperity. Their society was built on magic, and magic elevated them to greatness. 

The first paragraph, admittedly, flags your enthusiasm and gives you a pang of disappointment. This was the same vague thing you’d heard all your life. You shake it off and continue reading feverishly.

But, their magic was also their downfall.

You freeze, a stiff breeze making you shiver. Okay, that was news.

Their pursuit of ever-greater power opened a doorway to the Realm of Shadow, and the dark powers therein. The Great War began, and a hundred years later, the elver were all but wiped out.

The only survivors were those sheltered in the great sanctuary of Undermount. For nearly four centuries, they sealed themselves away, refusing all contact with the outside world.

Now, elves have somewhat reluctantly reopened their gates. Undermount exists in an odd political space; while it exists within the boundaries of Morella, the humans have no jurisdiction over it, and it operates as an autonomous city-state.

Your heart is pounding, your head is a whirl, actually buzzing with this blast of information. Riverbend had never once mentioned anything like this…Undermount. The name rang like a drum in your skull. If you repeated it to yourself enough times, you could magically pull its existence into you like a compass…

And what was this about magic being the downfall? You reread the passage again from the top, every word, committing it to memory. 

Kade would have loved this thing, you struggle to swallow as your eyes flicker away in shame. He’d have considered this entire harrowing day worth it to get his hand on this thing…and not just focus on one bit of the clue.

Focusing, concentrating, you turn yourself back and hungirly devour the rest.

After the Great War, there are only five hundred or so elves left alive. Outside of a handful of exiles and outcasts, they all live in the city of Undermount in the north.

Again you can’t help your mind from spinning off with questions you had no hope of answering. Were your parents exiles or outcasts? How had you found yourself alone so far away from such a place…

But with a stubborn shake of your head, you press on.

An incredibly complex hierarchy exists among all the elven houses, with an ever-shifting ladder of rank and wealth. Social competition is a cornerstone of elven society, and many elves spend their whole lives trying to advance the standing of their house.

A part of you wants to snort and scoff at how regal all that sounds, trying to imagine yourself sipping some fancy wine you can’t pronounce and speaking like Nia and Vash at all hours, dressed in finer clothes than you’ve ever seen in your life. That was the kind of life you might have had? Kade would have laughed himself stupid at you…if he’d even existed in that world at all…

Elves are taller than humans, standing an average of just over six feet tall.

Once again, that first sentence felt like a punch in the gut as you stare down at yourself in a traitorous way. Mal was easily six feet, you were a measly 5’4 if that…maybe your growth spurt just hadn’t finished yet…?

Elves also possess incredible senses, capable of seeing the tiniest drop of dew on a blade of grass or hearing a whisper two rooms away.

This, finally, made you smile, made a warmth bubble up in you at least that being normal to you, true. It gave you hope this tablet was nothing but truth.

Elves are also long-lived; the average elf lives to three hundred years old. They reach maturity at about 50, and then maintain that appearance until their oldest years.

You find your mouth hanging open once more.

50?! Okay, so hopefully you were right about that growth spurt?!

Three hundred years…you’d outlive Kade by so much…gods you couldn’t even imagine that span of time. The eldest in your village were in their late fifties and early sixties, and as far as you knew nothing significant had happened in your village for hundreds of years.

All elves posses some degree of magical affinity-

What was this?! 

From an early age, elven children are sorted into magical schools which train their talents, from Green Naturalists to Purple Illusionists to Black Battlemages.

Your hands are shaking once more in excitement, you cannot believe the words before your eyes. You could have done magic if you’d been trained at it?! It was a concept so far beyond you, anything you ever thought to dream of!

Perhaps you even could save Kade yourself if you knew how…but your eyes flicker about from Mal to the two Light priests. Neither of them knew where Undermount was…it was a wasted task to even ask. No, Whitetower was your goal. If Kade wanted to go on an adventure with you after to find this elven kingdom or go home, you’d follow his lead.

Still reeling from all this, you take a breath and trace your finger back to the top, curiosity roaring at what this thing had to say about your brother in comparison, about humans, the species you knew better than any elf. It was a strange comfort to have as you nestled in and once again started at the beginning, their history at the end, and moved your way up.

Two thousand years ago, during the era of the elven empire, humans were largely a servant caste to the elves, acting as laborers and farmers for the many elven houses. 

That caused a twisted pit of unease in your stomach. Modern day was sounding pretty good right about now. 

However, after the elven civilization fell in the Great War, humans flourished. They took over many of the elven cities and manors, and quickly created an impressive civilization of their own.

For about 500 years, Morella was divided into two dozen fiefdoms, constantly at war. But this period of darkness and chaos ended when the Lords of Whitetower triumphed, conquering the territories one by one to create a unified dynasty. 

Since then, the Valleros Dynasty from Whitetower has ruled over the humans of Morella, barring the occasional civil war and peasant uprising. 

King Arlan Valleros VII currently sits on the throne. Known as the Gentle King, Arlan has reigned over a period of great peace and prosperity. He has two songs: Balddur and Aerin.

You huff with mild disappointment at all that. Except for the names of the princes, this was all general knowledge of your own town.

It did give you pause, and strengthen your curiosity of what, or who wrote this thing…if it knew such ancient secrets as the old Elven ways, and such common knowledge of now…

But with a deep, calming breath you read on, starving for more.

Humans in Morella are organized in a traditional monarchy; the seat of power is with the king in the capital city, who carries out his will through two dozen local lords.

Even with the one Kingdom, human culture is divided into many subcultures and groups, from the decadent nobles of Whitetower to the seafaring rogues of Parnassus. If there’s one consistent trait to humanity, it might be their inconsistency.

You throw your head back, bursting out laughing in startled surprise for this writer. It was a notion that had never crossed your mind. Consistent, common, repetitive, those were words you always knew to associate with the humans in your village… but then you look back there, and then to Nia, sleeping fitfully on her cot in that insane dress she was trekking the world in. So naive, yet with such a sweet and genuine heart.

Then your eyes move to Mal, the roughest, most inconsistent person you’d met yet in your life.

Neither of them was anything like Kade, your happy go lucky, playful brother who loved to read and looked forward to festivals every year and wanted for nothing in the shack you called home while you’d yearned for more.

…but surely Elves were much the same? Different people from different bits of life? Your eyes flickered back down to Elven hierarchy squabbles. 

The outside world had always seemed so vast and strange to you, but never more than this moment where you sat questioning the very nature of what separated you all… aside from the blue skin anyways.

Ignoring the strange look Mal was giving you, and seeming to realize for the first time the tablet was in your hands, you gruffly clear your throat and continue.

Humans are the dominant sentient species in the Kingdom of Morella. Smaller than orcs and shorter than elves, they are most physically distinguished by their agility. 

Magical affinity is rare among humans. Less than 1 in 1,000 posses the gift, and most of those that do are quickly adopted by one of the major temples.

You sighed, again, knowing all that. You and Kade used to play a game about which person in the village could have untapped magical abilities. It was the most ridiculous of people every time.

Finally, your eyes jumped to the orcs. You hadn’t the faintest idea what on earth you could be about to read, and your excitement went right back up.

According to Orcish legend, they hail from a land far to the east, a continent known as K’ell Dhana; ‘The World That Was.’ There, they once had a massive civilization, an empire that puts the Kingdom of Morella to shame.

After K’ell Dhana was destroyed in a great volcanic eruption, the orcs who survived took to the seas and vowed to always keep moving, never settle, and never grow beyond their means.

In the past, the twelve orcish fleets acted independently, even in conflict. But ten years ago, they were united under the leadership of Ventra Tal Kaelen, who formed an alliance and established a capital, the floating city of Flotilla.

“Wow,” you gasp, unable to even imagine such a thing existing as a floating city. How could that possibly be manageable without a yearly crop harvest?

And this leader…never having heard more than brutish stories of Orc’s, you couldn’t wrap your head around trying to imagine what they could look like. Green skin, razor sharp tusks that could gore you, ten feet tall and able to pull the flesh from your bones with their hook like nails…

But you sigh and admit to yourself those were just stories Kade would love to laugh and tell about. You had no idea, you were just a kit.

Orcs are a nomadic species. ‘We Lay No Roots’ is a foundational principle of orcish culture, and one held deeply by all Clans. Travel, adventure, and the thrill of conquest, these are the values orcs hold dear. 

Orcs are a seafaring race. They are divided into twelve fleets, each made up of several hundred members. 

Orcs do not worship Gods like humans or elves. Rather, they worship elements of nature: the Ocean, the Sky, the Stars and the Moon.

You find yourself smiling at that, rather taken with the idea. Considering religion had never held much more than a passing comment other than to talk about Whitetower in your town, you rather liked this idea. Of thanking the weather for the rain and the sun to dry your clothes. You wonder what the ocean could possibly be like, for it to be such a central way to their life.

Orcs are the largest and strongest of the sentient species of Morella. The average orc stands six and a half feet tall, and has the muscle mass of the most well-built of humans.

Orcs poses tremendous physical strength. Their strongest can bend steel with their bare hands and withstand extreme heat and cold. 

Female orcs are stronger than males, which given the emphasis on physical prowess in their culture, means most orcish fleets are matriarchal.

Magic use in orcs is extremely rare. Less than 1 in 10,000 orcs are capable of magic.

You swallow and smile and run your fingers over the tablet again in deep fascination. It was like a tiny map of the world at the tip of your fingers. Whoever, whatever had made this tablet, and had the misfortune of it breaking apart here, you couldn't help but be grateful.

Then you realize you skipped a bit at the very bottom in your fanatic reread of the elves.

Orcs, elves, and humans are the primary sentient species on Morella, but there are a few others of note.

The amphibious grobtars live in the ocean depths. Little is known of their culture save unreliable accounts from captured sailors, but they are feared for their vicious, merciless attacks on traveling ships.

The vhampyr live in the corrupts of the ruined city of Necropolis. Some believe the bloodsucking immortals to be cursed elves; others think they’re not living at all, but ghosts made flesh. Given that no traveller has ever made it out of their city alive, perhaps we’ll never know. 

There are many others as well; the mermen of the Shimmering Isles, the molepeople of the Red Desert, the legendary birdmen of the north. Some even believe the drake, horrifying as they are, are sentient and have a secret society in the Deadwood.

Rereading everything once more, you smile as you tuck the tablet safely into your satchel. You’d always known that the world was vast, but the fact that you were guessing on how to even pronounce some of that made you feel so small, so eager to see it all…after. 

You hear the soft stirring of blankets, and look over to see Scholar Vash awakening with a soft groan of pain.

“Scholar Vash!” Nia is instantly awake and scrambling to be by his side. “You’re awake! Did the sleeping draught help?”

“You,” he wheezed, every breath sounding even more painful awake. “You did your best, dear priestess. But I’m afraid I don’t have long.”

He raises his shirt, and you can now see that all of his veins are running black, a spiderweb of inky darkness.

“No,” Nia sobs, shaking her head and turning her face away at once.

“The, the dark days have returned,” he murmurs, searching for her hand. She places it back in his without hesitation, streaming eyes meeting his. “You must, save your strength. The Shadow Court, seek to, return to our realm. To enslave and conquer once more.” His voice grows a bit stronger, as if being empowered by a practiced speech.

As he speaks, you find yourself drifting off, almost seeing what he’s describing, as if Kade were here once more painting a vivid story with words alone.

“Two thousand years ago, the elves were a thriving people, spreading peace and enlightenment across the realms. Their magic was unmatched, fueling all of civilization. But a cabal of rogue elves became greedy. They turned away from King Xaius, seeking to live forever, and in their pursuit of immortality, tapped into another dimension, a world of pain and darkness, the Realm of Shadow.”

You’ve seen it yourself, the Duke Erthax…and you’ve never felt more nauseous as you you again come to terms with the knowledge. He was an elf.

“When, when King Xaius learned what they had done, a civil war ensued, devastating the elven kingdom. Hundreds of thousands were killed.”

The story, the very one Kade had been telling you…gods it had only been two nights ago at the tavern. “And King Xaius said, they must be stopped, else their darkness will consume us all!”

“The rogue elves were banished, at great cost, to the Realm of Shadow. There, they became known as the Shadow Court.” Scholar Vash continued in an ever weakening tone. “Trapped and furious, they have waited for millenia to make their return. The Church of Light was founded to keep them at bay. We were entrusted with their cursed artifacts, gauding them at our sacred temples.

But as the centuries have rolled on, the old war has been forgotten. Relegated to myth and legend. The church itself has faded as its temples have crumbled. Yet the Shards…the Shards remain…Their power growing as the Light wanes…Reaching, reaching out to vulnerable minds. Corrupting them. Enticing them. And bringing us closer and closer to an age of darkness.”

He’s gasping for breath at the end, and you know he spoke true. His time is not much longer. You’d seen healthier corpses at this point as sweat beaded his brow, his hands shook. Every breath sounded painful. 

You slowly approach and kneel before him beside Nia, desperate for anything else he might tell you, just hoping he’d answer you at all really. 

“How do we stop this?” You plead.

“If you, collect all the Shards, you can take them to the Temple of Light for a purification ritual. That will burn away the dark energy stored within them, and render them useless to the Shadow Court. In addition to the Shard you have, there is one in the Temple of Light in Whitetower, with the High Priests. The other two Shards have been lost. One was last seen within the library at Port Parnassus, and the other resides with the remaining elves, deep in the heart of Undermount.”

You swallow the enormity of what he’s saying and shelve it for a problem for future you. He’s answering you. He’s giving you a way to get your brother back, no matter how impossible it may seem hearing it. “And the Onyx Shards? Anything else you can tell us?”

“The Onyx Shards are four powerful relics from the Great War. They have been infused with terrible dark energy, capable of corrupting minds and unleashing devastating power. I fear the Shadow Court is using them as conduits to corrupt mortals into serving them, and to gain entry to the mortal realm.”

An icy shard of fear pierces your heart and nestles there for the long haul…you’d only started to let yourself trust Mal once you’d finally released the thing from your hand. The elves, this entire story, it was all the fault of your people, your race. 

You had to watch yourself. You couldn’t let yourself be possessed by this thing. It wasn’t an option.

But the Scholar had said nothing of how to guard yourself against such evil. Perhaps there wasn’t even a way that had been discovered.

So with a ragged breath of your own now matching his, you choke out, “and the Shadow Court?”

“They are, a band of twenty-five rogue elves who defied the natural order in search of greater power. Duke Erthax is but one of them. A brutish warrior of great prowess. If he’s found a way to manifest in our realm, more may soon follow.” He paused to cough heavily, every racking blast making you wince. His arms were to weak to even cover his mouth, though he tried his best to turn away to do so. When his face flopped back, there was black spittle all over his front. “And, none worse than their leader, the Dreadlord.”

“And what about my brother?” You urge, trembling like a leaf. “Is there any way to bring him back?”

“I, I do not know, child. If anyone knows a way, it would be the High Priests at theTemple of Light. There are ways to bring someone back from the Realm of Shadow, but only if they have resisted the pull of darkness. Your brother must-” Vash lapses into another coughing fit, yet more black bile spilling out. 

“Kade must what?” You demand, desperate, resisting the temptation to grab his face and force the words out. 

As his coughs subside, Vash sinks back against his bedroll. His voice rasps out, barely more than a whisper. You lean down over him and he reaches up, grasping your hand. “Purify…the Shards…stop…stop the…Court… Keep…Nia…Safe….”

His eyes close. With one last sigh, his hand goes slack in Nia’s and on yours. Tears have not yet stopped rolling down her face, but she’s hastily trying to brush them aside as she pleads, “Scholar Vash! No! Please! You can’t, you can’t leave me!”

Swallowing every single emotion that wanted to rage and scream and tear this forest apart…you know exactly what she’s going through. You’re living in that same gripping feeling of loneliness and fear. 

Knowing her as a stranger, only wishing to help, you put a tentative arm around her shoulder and offer a soothing squeeze. “Nia, I’m so sorry.”

She releases him and buries her face against your shoulder, sobbing so hard, her whole body shook. Some comfort. “I, I knew him better than I knew my own parents! He taught me, e-everything-” she can’t continue, she has no breath, as if he’d taken that with him.

You pat her back, letting her get it all out. You wish you had the tears left instead of this dull, accepting ache. “Then you’re a living testament to him. His soul, his teachings, they live on with you.” It was the one, solid idea you would cling to until you knew Kade was unreachable. “Every day, you honor his memory by carrying on his work.”

Nia manages a weak smile that trembles at the corners of her mouth, you can only just glimpse it from where she’s still pressed tight against you, hands stronger than you would have expected a vice around your neck. She gulps, and chokes out, “you're right. That’s a beautiful way to think of it…but it still hurts.”

She wipes away her tears and sits back, looking at you and Mal with a new fire burning in her eyes. “We have to complete Vash’s mission. With the rest of the Onyx Shards, we can stop the Shadow Court and ensure they never harm anyone else. Syrum, Mal, will you join me?”

“No way Priestess!” Mal’s already trying to backpedal away all over again. A part of you can’t even blame him anymore. “Getting you to safety was my good deed for the year! But this is your quest, not mine. There’s nothing in it for me.”

Nia flies to her feet, you didn’t think the petrified girl you once met was capable of containing such rage. “Well, if an existential threat to the entire realm isn’t enough to convince you, I’m sure the Temple’s coffers can!”

Mal smirks. It looks as smug and insufferable as it ever once had, whatever humanity he’d begun to feel the previous night had vanished. “See, now you’re speaking my language. I’ve seen the Temple of Light in Whitetower. Those coffers run deep.”

“I can promise you a sizable fortune in exchange for your service.” Nia nodded empirically, not batting an eye, a Priestess of Light trained from birth once more.

It’s as solid a motivation as it should be, but you clutch your bag tight and decide to sweeten the pot, keep his eye on the real prize. “Not to mention the glory of defeating the Shadow Court, just think of your reputation. Think how much you can charge for stealing the smallest of trinkets.”

Mal is smiling like a greedy Orc straight from under a child’s bed. “All right. Fine. I’ll help. For now. To Whitetower, that’s the deal. Then we’ll see about all this.”

You struggle not to heft the last of the flickering flames in his direction, skin crawling with distaste. Kade should have been here, not this blackart. 

Nia’s turning to you though, as if there had ever been a question. “And, Syrum-”

“You don’t even have to ask,” you promise, placing a hand back on her shoulder. “I’m in this to the end. I’m seeing this through. It’s my fault Kade is trapped in the Realm of Shadow, he didn’t even want to come! I’ll do anything to get him out.”

BOLASBOLASBOLAS

I know Mal’s a really popular LI, but I’m sorry, I usually only pick one per-book, and while I was interested in dating him for a short time, the moment Imtura arrived, she was it for me. I’m sure some will hope I’ll pick multiple options, but I offer you this trade instead. Feel free to download this fic and change whatever you like about it. I’m serious, this is not Mine.  95% of this is owned by Pixelberry, I only add enough to make Syrum feel more alive in my heart. 

I’d be delighted if you altered whatever you like and share the fic with me so I can read the differences of how you fell in love with Mal or Aerin or whomever you wish for your character. I’ve seen videos online (and I highly recommend you go check out at least one if you’d like the visual part of these novels) of romancing the other characters.

[stringoflights93]

I want all non-Neopets players to know that the latest site news is that the Neo-Super Bowl got cancelled because everyone became too depressed to play

[stringoflights93]

listen, fuck "to each their own", sometimes your mutual gets into some batshit insane rarepair that they're a little embarrassed about and it becomes your sworn duty to put on your jester bells and jingle jangle proudly by their side for moral support. don't be a pussy. it's ride or die motherfucker

[stringoflights93]

pokèmonize yourself!!!!

spin this wheel to see your pokemon type

spin this one to see how you'll look like

[stringoflights93]

Chapters: 1/16 Fandom: Blades of Light and Shadow (Visual Novel), Pixelberry - Fandom, Choices- Stories You Play - Fandom Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Imtura Tal Kaelen/Main Character (Blades of Light and Shadow) Characters: Imtura Tal Kaelen, Mal Volari, Nia Ellarious, Tyril Starfury Additional Tags: Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Choices: Stories You Play - Freeform, Pirates, Orcs, Elves, Magic, cross species romance, Elf/Orc - Freeform Series: Part 1 of Blades of Light and Shadow Summary:

You're the only elf you've ever met your entire life, having been raised in a village of kindly humans, including the one person closest to you, your all but brother Kade. You dream of more though, to see the world and know what else could be out there...but there's always a price for glory as darkness begins seeping through the earth, pushing you into an adventure whether you're ready or not.