#naeris alleyborn

[river-oceanus]

Interlude: Reflections

Merilin sat quietly in a private bath, tending to their wounds and soaking away the aches and bruises the day had given them. The battle was almost over; today they had struck a decisive blow; Haemat was dead--forever this time--and the avatar of Heptera that appeared on his passing had been, after a bloody fight, banished back to whence it came. But utterly destroying a lich and fighting a corrupted celestial titan was the easy part of their final mission.

Merilin had tried not to think about what life would be like after the dust had settled. They had never really banked on being around to see it. It was difficult to imagine; as difficult as picturing a life without Haemat in control of the kingdom had been--but they had managed that. Beryl had turned out to be quite the respectable authority figure, all things considered, and life for the citizens of the Iron Kingdom had taken a definite turn for the better. But the war had continued regardless, the desperate gambits of a tyrant seeking life beyond death. Most people had been more oblivious than others; the general citizenry knew something was afoot, but open conflict had evolved into task-forces and hidden agents.

And all for what? Haemat’s phylactery now lay in pieces, destroyed by the very weapon he spent his life searching for. His final trick, arranging things so that his death would summon an avatar of his goddess. His life-long obsession. His love. That too had failed. Her avatar had been stopped, though not without cost. A good number of innocent people had been injured in the collateral damage. None of them had died--not permanently at least--but the Temple of Sharindlar would take years to recover.

And yet.

Merilin still hoped to help her. To show the world that nobody, not even a fallen god, is beyond pity or redemption. Was that arrogant? Maybe, but they knew where it stemmed from. Their own past was littered with words and deeds that would have them condemned by most. Even more recently, in the service of Beryl and in the pursuit of protecting the kingdom and its people from a dire threat. It had to have all been worth something.

They tried to picture the quiet life that would follow. One where they could watch over the kids themself, instead of delegating it to others. A life untouched by bloody conflict. Until the next power-crazed ruler came along, at any rate. But there would be time to relearn some of the things The Traveller took from them in exchange for access to more of their deity’s power. And the Guild... well, that’s another matter entirely.

[river-oceanus]

Interlude: A Game at Dinner

“It’s been lovely, Lady…” Naeris fished around in their mind for the dwarf’s name. “… Argent. But I really must be leaving.” “Nonsense!” Lady Argent shook her head. “You simply must stay for dinner, Miss Cellinel. It’s been ever so quiet here since my husband went off to fight.” “I must object, Lady Argent. What will people think?” Naeris guestured to their viol, sitting on a sofa nearby. “I’m…

[river-oceanus]

Interlude: Reunions II

Naeris watched the wood elf from a distance as he embroidered small golden birds onto the green and blue silks piled high in front of him. Dath, one of the other elves had called him. Dath. The elf Naeris had been told to seek out. They studied him as he worked; his blonde hair cut short and ragged, like he’d taken a dagger to it. His clothes, despite the abundance of fine silks, were stained and…

[river-oceanus]

I listen to music a lot when I write; I find it really helps get me into the right mind-set. This is especially true when I'm writing characters. I've posted a couple of playlists before, for Naeris and Roshan, and I've certainly written in generalizations about why I picked certain songs.

Now, I've been writing a lot of character-based fluff pieces recently (I'm trying write more words, more often so that NaNoWriMo doesn't come out of left field again), so I've had a lot of chance to listen to some of those playlists. For some characters, like Aidan (a wild-mage baker) it's easy: I just throw on 'Magic Dance' and get writing. So I thought I'd try something a little different this time, and try to pick the one song from a character's playlist that I think encapsulates them as a character, and work through why I think that. Now, I'm much better at consuming music than I am at writing about it, so buckle up. It's time to get experimental.

Character Theme Song: Naeris Alleyborn - 'The Cave', Mumford and Sons.

The song talks a lot about faults; about changing ones ways and seeing the world in a different light. What are the faults Naeris wants to leave behind? What 'shame' do they know? For that, we need to take a look a their history.

Naeris was abandoned as a child, and grew up on the streets of the capital city of a kingdom gripped by brutal tyranny. Survival meant stealing, and that meant taking things from people who probably needed it just as much as you did. To a gang of orphans, living hour-to-hour, the mere fact that someone else had something meant that they were better off than you. Why not take it? Why not join a gang of criminals that would provide shelter and decent food in exchange for a bit of theft or arson? We're just trying to survive, even if that means preying on others. I mean, they all do it too--those guards, shaking down that merchant for extra coin, that woman turning in her husband for treason to get the reward money.

In short, Naeris bought wholesale into the corrupt, unjust world they lived in. They were too distracted by the shadows on the walls to see what was really going on. And yeah, obvious Plato reference; I mean, the song is called 'The Cave'. But there's another, more fitting cave I wanted to discuss.

So, St. Francis of Assisi, right?. All round swell guy, loved fighting wars, partying hard, making money at the expense of others, and all those great things the upper-class of his time loved to do. A moment of divine inspiration, and he starts to come around to the idea that maybe all that money could be used to help people. He goes off on a vision quest to a bunch of remote, lonely places (a cave was probably involved) and he comes back a changed man. His view of the world has basically turned upside-down; he was 'walking on his hands', as the song puts it.

For Naeris, the revelation wasn't sudden, but rather the slow and inexorable realisation that something was very wrong with this society. Was it, like Francis, divinely inspired? That it reached a climax around the same time The Traveller chose Naeris as their cleric is, almost certainly not a coincidence, but the causality of that moment is a bit muddy. Did the Traveller simply see a soul that desired great change and grant it the power to achieve that? Or was it the other way around? I think--I say think, because I’m not entire sure myself--that it was a little bit of both. Naeris went into the cave already knowing that things weren’t right, and emerged with the power to do something about it.

So, now we have a person with a not-too-great past who has been given a chance to change their ways, perhaps divinely inspired, perhaps not. A once-infamous rogue who now works as a champion of the poor, of 'widows and orphans', fighting for the freedom of the people from an oppressive regime. Someone who knows what it's like to think that the shadows on the wall are all that there is, and who wants to show people the sunlight outside the cave (oh, that allegory again). Someone who, despite their faults, is finally figuring out what they're supposed to be doing with their life.

There is one line, in particular, that resonates with the character:

I'll know my name as it's called again

It's a bit silly, because I'm not entire sure what the original intent behind this line is. But 'Naeris' is just another nickname--they didn't know until quite recently what the name their parents gave them was. Perhaps somewhat ironically though, they have been called it all along by The Traveller: Little Nightingale. Ultimately, Naeris needs to make a decision about who they are; about which of their many names is theirs. Which one represents the person Naeris wants to be -- someone who fights injustice and inequity with compassion when possible, and with steel when required. The kind of person who looks upon Heptera, demon-goddess of rot and decay, and wants to redeem her. To deliver her from the corruption that was forced upon her (as far as they know; @20thcenturyvole​ might know otherwise).

Anyway, this has been a fun exercise, and I'd like to hear your thoughts!

[river-oceanus]

Interlude: First Meetings

The palace grounds were breathtaking, even under the blanket of night. Light spilled from windows and doorways, falling on a dizzying array of flowers that bloomed year-round. The frosty chill of winter refused to touch their delicate petals, and the grass inside the walls was free from the ice that covered most of the city. As pretty as it was, Naeris thought the enchanted gardens a wasteful display of power. They had often wondered why nobody had done something similar with the food-crops. One of the guild, more knowledgeable about nature-magic, had told them that such magic suspended the plants in eternal bloom; rendering them incapable of fruiting. But that was of no matter, now. Wasteful or not, it suited Naeris just fine: it was a lot easier to avoid leaving tracks without any snow or frost.

With a quick prayer to their divine patron, Naeris dropped from the wall and landed silently among the lilacs below. Around them, the shadows seemed deeper and the air heavier, muffling the sounds of their passage. With an urgent grace, Naeris slipped from shadow to shadow, moving ever closer to the main building. Here, if everything had gone to plan, Naeris would find an unlatched window into the library. They spared a thought for the maid they had wooed in the guise of Lord Quirion. She would be upstairs in her quarters, awaiting another visit from the elven nobleman who had promised to save her from this life. It hadn’t been a lie, Naeris rationalised to themself. If their mission tonight was successful, it would mean a swifter end to the tyranny of the Divine Regent, and freedom for all the people of the kingdom. But only if it was successful. Only if everything fell into place, exactly as planned. Naeris shook their head. There was no point thinking about what might go wrong until it happened. They hated having to rely on plans with so many moving parts–too many people involved, too many points of failure–but they were good at improvising. If things did go wrong, Naeris would be able to find a way out. They always had.

Across the garden, a light spilled out of the library window. Naeris paused behind a conifer and watched intently. The maid, Naeris realised and breathed a sigh of relief, and then froze as someone nearby asked “did you say something?” “No,” a gruffer, older man responded. “Think we should check it out?” There was a long, painful pause. “Probably,” the younger guard said finally. There was another pause. “Well?” “Can’t hear anything now.” “Right you are,” the older guard chuckled. “Probably just the wind anyway.”

Naeris took a moment to slow their racing heartbeat. It sounded like the guards were only a few feet away; how had they not seem them!? After an interminable moment of unbearable silence, the faint scuff of a boot on the grass came like sweet music, and the guards moved away on their rounds. Naeris withdrew a small mirror from a pocket and use it to chance a quick look around the conifer. In the light spilling from the building, they watched as the guards turned a corner and disappeared from view. Much more quietly than before, Naeris exhaled in relief. Stepping lightly, they hurried over the last distance to the library window. No light was visible within; the maid had been and gone. Another prayer, and then Naeris slipped a thin dagger into the crack between the frames and, with an oiled smoothness, the window swung open. Naeris thought of the maid again, and hoped that her part in all of this would go unnoticed–the fate that would await her otherwise didn’t bear thinking about.

The interior of the library was cool, and smelled of old books. Naeris had been here only once before, as Lord Quirion, to attend a soiree. The Divine Regent, praise the Traveller, had not been present. Naeris had never actually met him in person, though they had come dangerously close on at least one occasion. It was not an event they ever wanted to repeat. Thankfully, according to the rebellion’s Spymaster, the Divine Regent had been away for some time. Where, nobody was sure, but it was enough for Naeris to know that he wasn’t waiting upstairs. Naeris ascended to the library’s mezzanine, and listened at the doorway. Nothing. They quietly turned the handle, but it refused to give. Swearing softly, Naeris crouched down and inspected the lock. With a graceful movement, they produced a soft leather package from a pouch on their belt and set it down next to them. It unrolled with a nudge, revealing a wide array of thin metal implements.

Carefully, with a well-practiced hand, Naeris picked the lock. There was an audible click, and Naeris’ breath caught in their throat. When no sound of alarm was forthcoming, the elf slipped their tools back into the pouch and quietly opened the door. The hallway beyond was empty, which gave Naeris pause; according to the report from one of the spies in the palace, it was guarded at all times. Suspicious, they proceeded with caution, ears and eyes strained for danger. Left at the next hallway, up a flight of stairs, then rig-

LEFT

Naeris ducked left instead of going right. They had long since learned to trust their gut instincts in situations like this, and this was no different. Taking cover under an end-table, Naeris listened intently. Footsteps, coming from the right passage and low conversation.

“I’ve really got to get to my post,” a dwarf said, her voice filled with a quiet urgency. “If they find out I left it…” she let the sentence hang in the air. “I know, love” another woman replied. “Thank you for coming to see me. It means a lot.” “How could I not?” the first woman said. “Your poor brother… we’ve lost too many good people to this damn war. I hope it ends soon, one way or another.” “I hope so too,” the second agreed. “But…” “But what, love?” “Which side should we be on?” “I’m not sure,” the first dwarf said seriously. “She is the rightful heir to the throne, if you believe the rumours. But come, we shouldn’t talk about this here. Not in these walls.”

The conversation faded off as the two dwarves moved out of earshot, though Naeris waited a while longer before emerging from their hiding place. Despite the seriousness of their mission, they couldn’t help but smile faintly–even here, in the cold heart of the kingdom, people were busy being people. Naeris made a mental note to try to get the guard a message once the job was finished, telling her to take her lover and flee the city. The war would be upon the capital soon enough, and Naeris did not like to dwell on the number of everyday people who would get caught up in it. With any luck, they would be able to lure the Regent out into open battle and avoid having to siege the city, but Naeris wondered if they would be able to find any bait enticing enough.

Ahead, the corridors lay silent. The first guard’s absence had been luck, drawn away as she was by a lover’s grief. It was the sort of double-edged luck, Naeris noted, that often came from the touch of the divine. Naeris offered up a quiet prayer of thanks, and hoped that the brother’s soul had made the journey peacefully with little pain. The rest of the guards, though? Naeris wasn’t so sure. This corridor lead directly to their goal and for it not to be guarded was unthinkable.

STOP

Sensing that something wasn’t quite right, Naeris paused mid-step. At the very limits of their hearing, they could hear the faintest humming noise. They looked down at the floor where they had been about to step–nothing. They stepped backward and looked more carefully at the floor and walls of the hallway ahead of them. It was difficult in the dim torchlight, but–there! A tiny, almost invisible glyph inscribed on one of the decorative pillars. That certainly explained the lack of guards, at least, but it presented a problem. Guards could be distracted, lured away from their posts, tricked, or killed if necessary. Magical traps were a very different sort of obstacle, and not one that Naeris was usually equipped to deal with. Usually.

Naeris fished around in their pack, and pulled out a plain-looking scroll case. Inside was a random-seeming assortment of parchment and paper, covered in runes; the rebellion had been more than happy to provide Naeris with what they needed, given who they were stealing from. With a graceful, unnecessary flourish, Naeris fully unrolled a scroll and squinted in the dim light, trying to make out the spidery runes. The magic flowed like air, runes moving from the scroll and taking flight around them. The runes streamed towards the glyph, taking hold of its magic and trying to unravel it. For a tense moment, the two spells struggled against each other before, finally, the glyph evaporated into nothingness. Naeris inched along the corridor towards the door. Another glyph. The spell involved was beyond Naeris’ own limited faculty with magic, and the first scroll crumbled away without effect. Still, that’s why they had requested more than they needed. Hopefully. Grumbling slightly, Naeris removed a second scroll from the case.

The quiet at the far end of the corridor was unsettling. This deep into the enemy’s main stronghold, Naeris had expected more resistance. More guards, more people. All of their intelligence reports indicated that the palace should have been crawling with guards–so where were they? Not that they were complaining of course, but they had anticipated having to deal with at least two guards in this corridor alone. Yet… the entire journey this far had been almost too easy. When was the cage going to drop? With a slowly mounting sense of dread, Naeris gently pushed the door open; beyond, the Divine Regent’s study lay quiet and, blessedly empty.

“Thanks,” Naeris prayed softly. Somehow, things had worked out. They moved quickly to the Regent’s desk, checking every inch of it before even thinking of touching it. There was a secret compartment, of course, but Naeris thought it looked much too obvious. There had to be… wait, down in the leg, the grain there looked suspiciously like… Naeris pressed the button. There was a soft click, and a small section of the wall slid aside to reveal a compartment filled with documents. Naeris grabbed them, and started scanning them. And then, three things happened at all once.

Naeris found something far more important than what they’d been sent to find: a letter from one of the Divine Regent’s spies within the Rebellion.

Their gut instinct screamed at them with an intensity Naeris had only ever felt once before. RUN.

There was a soft pop a few feet away, and the Divine Regent appeared in his study. Their gazes met, and Naeris saw their own death reflected in his eyes. “Hello Turnip,” the Divine Regent’s voice was smooth and urbane.

Naeris froze.

“For one so young,” the Divine Regent continued, “you’ve managed to become quite the thorn in my Spymaster’s side.” “Thank you, your majesty,” Naeris bowed with a fixed, frozen smile. Every inch of their being was screaming at them to run, to get away from this horror that stood before them. “I see that you were expecting me,” they waved the letter. “I’m rather honoured that you thought enough of me to come in person.” “Yes, well,” the Regent made a non-committal gesture. “I take great pleasure in personally destroying those who irk me.” “Why, my lord,” Naeris smirked despite themself, “if I’d known that was what you had in mind, I would have worn my finest silks.”

The Divine Regent didn’t seem amused, and began to in intone arcane words. An overwhelming force assailed Naeris’ mind; a simple, overwhelming idea: “be mine and you will live”. Naeris began to relax. Everything would be fine. The Regent would help. NO! Deep within, some core of Naeris’ being cried out that this was a lie. Resist, it screamed at them. These are not your thoughts! Naeris struggled against the molasses of the spell. It would be so easy to give in, to sink into the warm embrace of the mind-magic. But not here. Not now.

Naeris blinked and shook their head slightly as the spell faded. “Sorry,” they said, “I really don’t like being told what to do.”

“Elves,” the Divine Regent sighed in disappointment. “Well, if I cannot own you, then you will die.”

WINDOW. NOW.

Naeris sprinted as fast as they could towards the small window as the Divine Regent filled the space between them with lightning. Naeris deftly tried to avoid the brunt of the spell, but the raw untamed energy slammed into them as they dove through the glass. For one infinite instant, pain filled their world as their every nerve lit up at once. And then it was over. They were falling, almost dead, barely thinking. Adrenaline hit them almost as hard as the ground did, and Naeris was over the palace wall before the alarm even sounded.

The city passed in a blur of pain and terror as Naeris ran, not really paying attention to where they were going. All they knew was that they had to get to ground, and fast. Where was safe? The Regent had eyes and ears anywhere that mattered, and probably tracking spells. It had to be somewhere deep, with thick walls of stone and steel.

Minutes later, though it felt like an instant, Naeris burst through Lady Argent’s window. Blood-soaked, exhausted, and terrified, Naeris was almost unrecognisable. Lady Argent pulled a hammer from under her pillow and then paused. “Lord Quirion?” she asked, incredulous.

“He’s after me,” Naeris choked, and then collapsed into the cold embrace of unconsciousness.

* * *

Not yet, little Nightingale. You have songs yet to sing.

* * *

Naeris galloped into the camp at full speed, ignoring the cries and protests of the perimeter guards. “Sorry!” they yelled as they nearly ran down a Lieutenant who had moved to intercept them, “I have an urgent message for the Spymaster!” Dismounting even as the horse continued forward, Naeris landed gracefully before the Spymaster’s lodgings. The guard drew her axe.

“What the fuck,” she asked incredulously, while moving to block the entrance, “do you think you are doing?” “It’s a matter of utmost urgency,” Naeris whispered dramatically. “And I really must ask you to stand aside! The spymaster needs to know at once!” “Well, he’s busy,” the guard said. “In a meeting with the commander.” “Oh!” Naeris said, delighted. “Excellent! She needs to hear this too.” “No can do, Naeris,” the guard said firmly. “It’s a private meeting, and,” she added, looking past Naeris, “I think the Lieutenant wants to have a chat to you about how proper camp entry procedure.” “I really don’t have time for this,” Naeris said, a touch of anxiety leaking into their voice. They wove a quick spell, and laced their next word with magic. “FLEE.”

The guard ran. Naeris barreled through the door, drawing a dagger as they went. It preceded them into the room, flashing past the surprised faces of Her Highness, Princess Beryl and her seneschal, before embedding itself into the throat of Spymaster Slate. He looked momentarily shocked, before slumping over his desk. Naeris slammed the door behind them, and dropped the bar into place. Princess Beryl and her seneschal were on their feet, weapons drawn and poised to attack. Naeris held up a hand, and pointed at the body, still draped over the desk. All eyes in the room turned towards it in horror as it began to shift and change, swelling to human-like proportions. Its skin became a smooth mottled grey, and its face lost all features except for a pair of huge, bulbous eyes.

“Doppelganger,” Naeris said, breaking the stunned silence. “So it would seem,” Princess Beryl said carefully, as she lowered her weapon. “The real Reggie should be around here somewhere,” Naeris said. “They can’t read the memories of dead people, so he’s probably been drugged and hidden in a barrel or something.” “Who-” the Princess started. “Naeris,” the seneschal, having regained his composure, answered her question pre-emptively. “One of our counter-intelligence operatives. Their alias is Lord Quirion.” Naeris curtsied, “A pleasure to finally meet you, your highness.” “Agent,” the seneschal said sharply, “Explain. Now. What in Moradin’s name is going on here?”

Before Naeris could answer, there was a hammering at the door. The seneschal sighed, and moved past Naeris to remove the bar. He opened the door slightly, and shot the door-guard a withering look. A small crowd had gathered at this point, attracted by the chaos. “We are,” he said, looking sternly at the assembled soldiers, “in the middle of an important meeting and do not wish to be disturbed.” “Sorry sir,” the guard squeaked.

“Now, I believe you were about to explain this mess,” he said to Naeris as he re-barred the door. “Well,” Naeris turned to address the princess, “Your uncle played us like a well-tuned lute. I don’t know when he got back, but he knew I was coming, what I was after, and when I’d be in his study. His plan, near as I can guess, was to lure one of your best agents into a trap, and then use his sorcery to control them.” “One of our best agents?” the seneschal scoffed. “That’s a bit a presumptuous, Naeris. And how do we know he’s not controlling you?” “Seneschal,” Beryl said quietly, “Their mission was to break into my uncle’s private study–I doubt we would send our worst agent.” “Thank you for your kind words, your highness. Your seneschal and I merely have differing opinions about what qualifies as good attributes for a spy. As to the second question, well,” Naeris jerked a thumb towards the corpse on the desk, “that’d be you right now. Thankfully though, I detest being told what to do, or how to feel.” “Yes,” the seneschal muttered, “we all know that well enough. But that doesn’t explain how you knew about the Spymaster.”

“Oh, well that one’s pretty easily explained actually,” Naeris said, and produced a letter from their pocket. “I found this in your uncle’s study. Details of our plans that could have only come from Reggie.” The Princess snatched the letter from Naeris and read it. “Hmm. But how did you know he was a doppelganger, and not just working for my uncle?” “I didn’t,” Naeris grinned. “Not entirely.” “Not entirely?!” the seneschal fumed. “So you just barged in here and killed him on a hunch?” “It was a bit more than just a hunch,” Naeris sighed. “Look, the signature is a little off. Reggie would never use that word in an official communication, though he’d probably think it. And,” Naeris shrugged slightly, “I followed Reggie around for a year when I started working for you. I’d suspect your seneschal of being a turn-coat before I’d even consider Reggie.” “How dar-” the seneschal began, but Beryl interrupted him. “What my seneschal is trying to say, Agent Alleyborn, is thank you. Can I trust you to find my real Spymaster?” “I’ll have him back in his chair by sundown.” “Best do. We’ll stay here and pretend the meeting is dragging on. Can’t have anyone finding out about this now, we?” Naeris grinned, and left the room.

[river-oceanus]

Interlude: Reunions

Tusk was glaring at Naeris. “What happened to the plan?” she asked forcefully. The two of them had finally managed to find a moment’s peace to catch up, and she was almost giddy with joy and simultaneously filled with a storm of rage. “Why are we letting them all live? The plan-” “Plans change, Tusk,” Naeris interjected. “You know that. I’m still getting you out of here. That hasn’t changed.”…

[river-oceanus]

Interlude XVII

Being an account of a certain elf’s time spent lost in the Feywilds. Longer than my usual, so it’s under the cut. As always, feedback is appreciated!

Naeris awoke, certain of exactly one thing and nothing more–they were lost. The tree they had settled into for the night now stood in an unfamiliar swamp; definitely not the roadside clearing they had fallen asleep in the previous evening. They sighed deeply.

“You must really have it in for me,” they said to the trees. “I didn’t even leave the path! And yet!” they gestured angrily at the swamp. “Every fucking step I’ve taken this time around has been a fucking nightmare. Fuck! What do you want from me?!”

The only answer the Green Plateau gave was the chirping of cicada and the buzzing of midges.

“Ugh,” Naeris muttered to themself as they stormed off through the mud and shallow pools.

A regular traveller of the plateau Naeris knew better than to try and figure out which direction they were heading. The veil between worlds was thin here, and it was all too easy to step out of this world for a moment, and re-appear miles away, all turned around. Once you’re off the path… it was best to keep moving and pray you meet something you can try diplomacy with rather than, well, pretty much anything else.

Thankfully, Naeris had a wide array of useful tricks for just this sort of situation. Invoking Skerrit, the Centaur god of nature, they wove a spell of shadow around themselves and practically faded from view. Moving with supernatural silence, Naeris stalked through the wetlands. Far ahead, on the very edge of their hearing, a troll lumbered through the undergrowth muttering to itself in its harsh language. Naeris changed direction and moved to what they thought might be higher ground.

They hadn’t gone more than a few feet when, without warning, the spell faded. Puzzled, they cast it again; this time invoking Olladra, the human goddess of good fortune. The spell almost took form but–with a sudden breeze that sounded faintly like mocking laughter–the fabric of magic fell apart before it was complete. Naeris cursed under their breath.

“Okay,” they muttered. “No spells then. I guess that’s what I get for not knowing which one of you is even giving these to me. Fine, I’ll do it the hard way.”

The troll lumbered on, oblivious to the elf and their plight.

…

After a mile, Naeris stopped and surveyed their surroundings. They had been following a small stream, heading upstream to higher elevations. The pools of brackish water were nowhere to be seen, and the terrain underfoot had a markedly different quality–rocky and firm, rather than peaty and damp. A good sign that they hadn’t gotten turned around, at least. Free from the wetlands, for the time being, Naeris sat on a nearby rock and removed their boots. Small rivulets of water poured from their mouths as they were upended and placed upside down to dry out a little.

While they waited for their boots to dry, Naeris pulled a viol from their backpack and tuned it up before playing a slow, haunting melody that seemed to linger in the quiet forest air. A hush fell over the woods as if everything nearby was listening intently–a very perturbing sensation, Naeris thought. As the final bars faded, the sounds of the forest quietly returned as if they had never gone.

“Well that’s fucking bizarre,” Naeris said.

…

Ahead, the sound of rushing water came crashing through the trees. Here, the stream looked fast-flowing and deep. Cresting a rise, Naeris felt the breath catch in their throat as the forest opened up to reveal a waterfall cascading rainbows into a vast, crystal-clear pool. An elfin woman, hauntingly beautiful, bathed in the clear waters. Naeris averted their eyes quickly–out of a sense of decency as much as danger–and cleared their throat loudly.

“Hello traveller,” the naiad greeted them, seeming entirely unsurprised at the intrusion.

“Good afternoon,” Naeris said. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you. I heard the waterfall and came to see if there was a pool here, but I didn’t realise it was already occupied.”

“You did not disturb me, young pilgrim. My name is Castalia, and these are my waters. The stream warned me of your approach.”

“Then the stream has my thanks,” Naeris bowed, “for it would have been most ungracious to approach unannounced, even unknowingly.”

“Well spoken, pilgrim. Now,” she regarded Naeris with an appraising look, “what brings this little nightingale to my pool? Is it lost?”

“A nightingale, Lady Castalia? I’m afraid my voice is not so sweet,” Naeris said. “As for what brings me here, why, I was simply following the stream. I am quite lost.”

“Lost? I think not, dear pilgrim,” Castalia said, kindly. “You are simply following a different path.”

“Lady Castalia, I’m not sure I understand.”

Castalia laughed the laughter of a babbling brooked. “You will, my little nightingale. Now come, will you not refresh yourself in the waters of my pool?”

“If you will permit me, Lady Castalia.”

“I will permit it,” Castalia said, sounding very formal. “But first, you must look upon me and tell me what you see.”

There were tales, of course, about the dangers of gazing upon naiads. Their beauty, they said, is enough to strike the viewer blind. Naeris wasn’t sure if they believed it or not, but they hadn’t wanted to take the risk. Now it seemed like they didn’t have much of a choice. Cautiously, Naeris raised their head.

Castalia was standing in the water a few feet away; blue eyes sparkling with mirth from a strikingly handsome face. The water was drawn up around her and had formed into an azure silk gown. “Don’t be afraid,” she said as their eyes met and Naeris’ world fell into a calm blue void.

The forest parted, revealing an ancient temple of stone and vine standing at long abandoned crossroads. The paths lead nowhere, ending abruptly at the edge of the glade. Naeris stepped into the glade and-

Naeris blinked and tried to clear their head. “What was that?”

“Your destination, young pilgrim,” Castalia said solemnly.

“How… how do I get there?”

Castalia laughed again, the sound of rain falling on a spring evening. “Keep following the path, of course. But first, little nightingale, you should rest. Bathe in the waters of my pool, and eat of the trees from the west bank–but never the east.”

“I-” Naeris began but thought better of objecting. “Thank you, Lady Castalia. Your generosity is deeply appreciated.” Naeris unslung their pack and placed it gently on the ground. They reached up to remove their leather armour and hesitated.

“Do not concern yourself with such things,” Castalia said softly. “I am the only one here, and I am as changeable as the water. Who you are is a fae blessing, and you should be proud.”

Naeris turned a violent shade of red but resumed removing their armour.

…

The water was cool and refreshing, and Castalia sang strange and wondrous songs. Naeris could have floated there for hours, had not hunger reared its ugly head. Carefully noting the naiad’s warning, they gathered some fruit from the western trees and sat down to eat. The fruit–peaches, apples, and apricots–dripped with juice and sated them far more than Naeris expected. As Castalia continued singing, Naeris found themself drifting off into a state of peaceful meditation.

A few hours later, a well-rested and well-fed Naeris bid farewell to their most gracious host, and set off deeper into the plateau. “Don’t expect much more hospitality from this place,” Castalia warned as they said their farewells. “You have many trials ahead, little nightingale, and they will not be easy. The Plateau is harsh and unforgiving–failure will likely mean your death.”

Her words weighed heavily on Naeris’ mind as they slipped through the dense woods. The entire encounter had been a little strange, even for the Green Plateau, but her warning was welcome. It wasn’t often that the fae-lands gave you that chance.

…

Ahead, the forest thinned, and eventually gave way to a large meadow. Naeris paused, unsure if venturing into the open was a good idea. It looked safe enough, but that didn’t really mean much here.

LEFT, NOW!

The gut feeling came suddenly as Naeris stepped between two trees. Naeris got a short glimpse of something large and covered in fur–or maybe feathers–before diving into the undergrowth to the left. For an eternal five seconds, all Naeris could hear was the sound of their own heart kicking into high gear, and then the air was split with an all-too recognizable hooting bellow. The owlbear crashed through the undergrowth and Naeris scrambled to their feet and started running.

RIGHT

They swerved right, narrowly missing a low-hanging branch. The owlbear sounded like it was only moments behind, and closer than before. Off to the left, Naeris spotted a deadfall leaning up against another tree. A perfect ramp, and unlikely to bear the monster’s weight–if they could reach it in time.

JUMP

Naeris leapt over a rock, almost invisible in the tangled undergrowth. The deadfall was close–so close–but the owlbear was closer. Its horrid beak clacked in the air next to Naeris’ shoulder, narrowly missing as the elf twisted to the left and ran their blade along the monster’s side. It was a shallow cut, but it was enough to provide the momentary distraction Naeris needed to make a break for the deadfall. Screeching in rage, the owlbear launched back into the chase.

NOT THAT WAY

Naeris hesitated, wasting precious seconds. The owlbear lunged, one paw catching Naeris in the side. Their vision swam as they hit the ground a few feet away. The monster reared up and Naeris, in a fit of desperation, tried to draw on their divine magic. A blast of radiance flew from their outstretched hand and slammed into the owlbear’s chest, throwing it off balance. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for Naeris to get back to their feet and back on the run. Moments later, feet hit the deadwood and Naeris sprinted up its length into the branches of the next tree. The owlbear tried to follow, but with a satisfying crack and a splintering of wood, the deadfall collapsed under its weight.

Screeching, the owlbear paced under the tree its dinner had taken refuge in. Naeris braced themself against the tree and unhitched their bow. “Oi,” they called down at the owlbear as they nocked an arrow, “Fuck off.” The owlbear bellowed in response and reared up against the tree. Naeris desperately tried to remember if owlbears could climb, but mercifully the creature seemed more intent on shaking the tree apart than hauling itself up to the lower branches. They sighed and took aim at the beast. “You don’t have to die, you know. You could just leave. Find someone else to eat. I don–gods; like you can even understand a word I’m saying. That’s the trouble when you deal with mostly intelligent enemies: you get used to talking them out of killing you.

"Not that you understand me, but I am sorry about this,” Naeris said as they loosed the arrow. It struck true, impaling the owlbear through its right eye. It screeched in pain and finally lumbered off into the woods . Naeris exhaled in relief, winced, and automatically started casting a healing spell; only for the magic to dissipate before it could take effect. Cursing, Naeris started untying the side of their armour and inspected the wound. It looked shallow; their armour had done its job at least. Naeris prodded the area around the wound gingerly and winced again.

“So magic is only going to work in life-or-death situations, huh?” they muttered as they applied a foul-smelling poultice to the gash in their side. “Well, at least that means you don’t want me dead. Broken ribs though, that’s just fine.”

Despite their frustrated protestations to nobody in particular, Naeris was more unsettled than angry. Their magic, though of unknown provenance, had never failed them before. They had originally just chalked it up to something odd about this region of the Green Plateau, but the fact it had worked in a desperate situation… “Someone’s playing me for a fool,” they said as they bandaged their side.

…

After an uncomfortable night spent in a tree, Naeris weighed their options carefully. Being out in the open was a risk, and would probably lead to trouble, but the meadow looked like the more even ground. Which, given their injury, meant a much easier walk than the tangled brush of the forest. After a heated internal debate, Naeris picked up a fallen branch to use as support and set out in the direction of the meadow. Twenty minutes later, they still hadn’t arrived and the forest seemed to stretch on forever.

“Ugh,” they groaned. This was definitely the way they had come–all they had to do was follow the owl-bear trail back to where the chase had started. But the meadow was gone, replaced by dense forest. Naeris sighed and pressed on regardless.

…

The cave seemed empty, but Naeris was still suspicious. They had come to a cliff, and had been picking their way along its lower edge when the sky had opened and unleashed a deluge of rain. They had found the cave soon after, and Naeris didn’t trust anything so serendipitous. They threw a rock through the cave mouth and listened intently as it skittered across the floor. Nothing. The pressing need for warmth, food, and rest overrode their caution, and Naeris tentatively stepped into the cave. When nothing untoward happened, they threw down their pack and flopped onto the floor.

For a time, they just lay there listening to the sound of rain falling outside. It was peaceful, if a little damp. Eventually, the dampness of their clothes finally irritated Naeris enough to sit up and venture back outside in search of enough dry wood to start a fire. It wasn’t easy; the rain had come in hard and fast and already soaked most of the exposed dead wood lying on the forest floor. But in time, Naeris had a cheery little fire going and turned to more important matters.

It had been three days since their encounter with the owlbear, and the wound was starting to show signs of infection despite the poultice Naeris had been applying. Without magic to cure it easily… Naeris tried not to think about dying alone in the wilderness, killed by a septic wound; better to have been eaten by the owlbear. With reluctance, they placed one of their dagger blades into the fire. “I should have brought wine,” they said wistfully as the blade heated to a glowing red.

…

The next morning, Naeris stood at the base of the cliff and gazed upward, certain that their path continued at its summit. They put one hand on the cliff-face and stepped up to begin the climb-and immediately stopped as their ribs strenuously protested. They regarded the cave thoughtfully; it wasn’t the worst place to recuperate. There was a stream a little further along for water, and enough fruits, berries, and edible roots in the area. And fish, if it came to that. Naeris made a face at the thought.

Every morning, Naeris attempted the ascent. Every morning, they gave up before making things worse. During this time, they grew well acquainted with the surrounding area, and came to a definite conclusion: the only way forward was up, and the only way up was waiting until their ribs were healed enough to handle the climb. Naeris had never made an art of patience; they had never had the time for it. But here, alone and injured on the Green Plateau, they learned how to wait.

…

Six weeks later, though it might have been seven–time was really difficult to keep track of here–they awoke with the knowledge that today would be the day. After a breakfast of charred fish (ugh) and mixed berries, and a few days worth of smoked fish and fruit packed into their pack, Naeris began the ascent. It was not an easy climb; they were far more familiar with the rough masonry of the city than unworked rock. But with great effort, a couple of hours, and more than a few twinges of pain, Naeris finally crawled over the summit of the cliff. They lay there for a time, eyes closed, just breathing.

“What is it? a voice at the edge of Naeris’ hearing asked.\ "Elf,” another answered. “Dead, I think.”\ “Taste good?”\ “Not enough for a meal. Too scrawny.”\ “Snack then.\ "Snack.”

Naeris exhaled heavily and pulled themself to their feet. They turned to where the voices had been coming from and said “A snack?” They shook their head. “No, no, no. If you’re going to eat me, you should really do it properly.”

The two goblins paused their approach. “Elf is alive,” one commented to the other.\ “Has weapons,” the other observed.\ The goblins glanced at each other. “Not food,” they agreed.

“Well, I have food with me,” Naeris said, guesturing to their backpack. “Trade?”

“What does Elf want?” one of the goblins asked suspiciously.

“I’m looking for… somewhere. A temple at a crossroads.”

The two goblins exchanged significant looks. “Sorry Elf, can’t help.”\ “Have to go, tribe is expecting us back soon. Good luck!”

“Wait! Ple…” Naeris trailed off as the goblins ran back into the trees. “Well,” they muttered to themself. “That’s not concerning at all.”

Resigned, Naeris looked around for an obvious path. The plateau at the top of the cliff was less thickly wooded than the area around the base. The stream that Naeris had been using for drinking and washing meandered off the cliff’s edge not far from where they stood, and it seemed as good a path to follow as any.

…

The food was running out. Following the stream for three days had taken Naeris out of the woods and on to a large open plain of tussock. Crossing the plain had taken another week, and stretched Naeris’ supplies to their limit. The stream bubbled on, unheeding of the elf’s plight.

“How are there not fish?!” Naeris screamed at the stream. They thought back to the strange flightless birds that had inhabited the tussock and found themself wondering what they tasted like. “Ugh. You fucking moron,” they berated themself. “You should have known this would happen.

"Not much sense arguing about it now, idiot. You got yourself into this mess, you can get yourself out.

"Can I though? This whole situation has seemed a bit beyond my capabilities. I’m not really the wilderness type.

"You’ve survived this long, haven’t you?”

Naeris sighed. “Luck. Like most things in my life. And look where it’s gotten me; arguing with my own reflection like a mad-man.

"Luck? Aren’t you one of the greatest thieves ever known? Stealing state secrets from the most secure vaults and emptying the pockets of the rich to feed the poor?

"Oh, I see what’s going on here .

"What?

"You’re not my reflection at all. You’re a manifestation of my own ego, sent by whatever god has given me my powers to tempt me into agreeing with your lies. At which point, I assume, I’ll be trapped in this stream forever or turn into a lovely flower or something weird like that.

"What lies? You prove your skills time and time again. That you’re even standing here, alive after the life you’ve lead?

"You really don’t get it, do you? Yes, I’ve got skills. Yes, I’m good at what I do; I’ve made it this far without your help–excepting that one time against the owlbear–but fuck you if you think I don’t realise when I’ve reached my own limits. When I need help. Because I do, and have always done. You suggest that I wouldn’t have survived unless I was the best at what I do–I contend that I would never have made it out of that alleyway without relying on other people. And I definitely wouldn’t have made it anywhere without you, so stop it with all this fucking ‘test of faith’ bullshit, we both know you already know how I feel so all this is really doing is making me look like a crazed idiot yelling at some water.”

The stream was silent.

“That’s what I thought.”

…

A few miles later, Naeris collapsed under a lonely tree. They were sweating despite the cold, and their head was pounding. Leaden arms wove an exhausting spell, and the elf stared at their waterskin, glowing faintly with traces of disease and betrayal. Dirk loomed over the prone Naeris, brandishing his eponymous weapon. “You should have avenged me, elf.”

“You’re not real,” Naeris said as they feebly tried to wave the hallucination away. “I’m just delir.. del… seeing things. Water’s bad.”

“You could have found me,” a half-orc said. “If you really wanted to, you could have found me.”

“I tried, but you… you left me,” Naeris almost sobbed. “Like everyone does.”

“You drive them away,” an older human spat. “Nobody wants a… whatever you are.”

“I…” Naeris started crying.

“Hey now,” a woman’s voice, “don’t cry, little one. We’re just going to be in the city for a few days while your father finds a way to get us out of this gods-forsaken country.”

“… mother? Where are you?”

“Sorry kid,” a male dwarf. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.” The dwarf sighed as he turned his back. “Poor thing. I hope whatever gods are left are watching over you.”

“I must be putting on quite the show for them, if they are.” Naeris laughed bitterly, and slipped into unconsciousness.

…

When Naeris awoke, groggy and exhausted, they immediately threw up. Standing was difficult, but they found that if they kept almost-falling forwards, they could get their legs to co-operate. Follow the stream they thought to themself. Traitor stream, got me sick.

“You should have boiled the water,” the half-orc commented. “Like we had to do as kids.”

“You’re right, Tusk. You were always right. But there was nothing to burn. But now there’s just this tree. Oh, and those trees over there,” they gestured towards a small stand of trees in the distance.

“Were those there last night?” Lord Quirion asked.

“I don’t… what are you doing here? You’re me!”

“I’m you? Heavens above, I would never let myself stoop so low. Look at you, with your scruffy hair and your tacky leather armour. Is that what passes for fashion in these parts?”

“Ugh. Go away,” Naeris waved at the hallucination. “Go bother someone else. Like that satyr over there.”

Lord Quirion vanished, and Naeris stumbled towards the satyr.

“Hail traveller,” the satyr greeted them. “I was going to offer you a drink, but you look like you’re about half-pickled already.”

“I’m… sick,” Naeris tried to explain. “Not drunk. Wish I was drunk. Hurt less that way.”

“Oh, well that’s no good,” the satyr said. “You might want to lie down and rest a while. There’s a stand of trees not far from here.”

“Yes, I see them, over there. They weren’t there before. Where did you… where did you go? Hello?” Naeris looked around in confusion, but the satyr was gone.

…

Naeris woke up under a group of trees. They didn’t remember how they got here, or how long they had been here. Their lips were dry and cracked, and their throat hoarse. There was a deeply unpleasant smell coming from somewhere nearby. With tremendous effort, they struggled upwards and looked around. They had come to in a stand of small trees–vague memories of walking towards them surfaced in Naeris’ mind. Everything ached, and the feeling of thirst was overwhelming. They reached for their waterskin, but it was gone. “Oh,” they said. “Of course.”

Nearby, the stream flowed on. Naeris eyed it suspiciously. “I’ve been following you upstream, ” they muttered hoarsely, “So if this was something back that way… Still, I shouldn’t take any chances…”

A spell, half-remembered from delirium, came to their mind. “Please,” they said aloud to the trees. “This is your domain, and I am but a weary traveller, dying of thirst. Please grant me this boon, that I may reach my destination.”

No answer came, but none was needed. The spell took form as Naeris cast it, and to their immense relief, the stream’s water was free from contamination. They stripped, and threw themself in headlong. The water was cold, but Naeris drank deeply. When they emerged, a satyr was standing nearby, watching them.

“Ah, you’re awake,” the satyr said.

“And you’re not a hallucination,” Naeris replied. “I could have sworn I imagined you.”

“Quite a feat that would have been, young traveller,” the satyr smiled wryly, “and yet not entirely inaccurate.”

“I’m not sure I follow. Are you real, or am I still sick?”

“That’s a very good question,” the satyr laughed, and waved his arms at the trees. “It’s hard to tell here, on the Plateau. Perhaps I am the one dreaming of a naked elf, bathing in a mountain stream. If so, then it is a strange dream, though not entirely unpleasant.”

“Well then, good dreamer,” Naeris chuckled slightly. “I don’t suppose you could imagine a pleasant camp-fire? This water is mighty cold.”

“Alas, I cannot,” the satyr said. “Though, in exchange for a good story, I could be persuaded to make one the old fashioned way.”

“A good story? I’d be happy to oblige. I’ve had precious little chance for conversation these past… weeks? Months? Gods, how long have I been lost?”

“Longer than you realise, I’d wager.” Just a little too slowly, the satyr added, “Time has a habit of getting away from people up here on the Plateau.”

“In any case,” Naeris continued, “You have a deal my friend. A warm fire for a story.”

…

“And that’s how I got this,” Naeris said as they uncovered their shoulder to reveal an ugly brand. “Only time I’ve been caught for more than a couple of days. Thank the myriad gods Serif was there too, otherwise I’d probably still be locked up somewhere. Or worse.”

“I’ll drink to that,” the satyr said, pouring more wine into his mug. “To finding friends in expected places; be it a bird in a gaol or a naked elf bathing in the woods.”

“To finding friends,” Naeris agreed, and drank deeply.

“You know, it feels a bit rude to ask this right after we toasted our friendship, but I’m not sure I ever asked your name. I’m Adlas.”

“Oh, it’s, uh…” Naeris shook their head, trying to clear the drunken haze. “I… honestly don’t remember. Call me Naeris. It’s the closest thing I have to a name these days.”

“Your name is turnip?”

“Ohhh, you speak elvish,” Naeris nodded as sagely as possible. “So many people don’t realise that’s what it means.”

…

The next morning, Naeris awoke with their viol in their hand, a pounding headache, and absolutely no memory of what happened after the fifth mug of wine. Nearby, Adlas was extricating himself from a pile of sleeping creatures of several races and genders, many of them in various states of undress. Naeris waved weakly. “I, uh, assume from the, uh… everyone,” they gestured at the pile of people, “that there was quite the party last night.”

“Last night?” Adlas chuckled. “It’s been five days. I think. My memory is a bit, well, you know.”

“Lost in a drunken haze?”

“Whenever possible,” he said as he poured a mug of wine. “Wine?”

“No, but thank you for the offer.” Naeris said, holding their temple. “I think I’ve had enough to last me a year or two.”

“Are you heading off then?”

“Yeah,” Naeris said eventually. “I think it’s time.”

“Where are you going, anyway? I forgot to ask.”

“I guess I’ll know when I get there. For the time being, I’m enjoying being lost.” Naeris grimaced a little and rubbed their head. “Some parts of it much less than others, of course.”

“To safe journeys,” Adlas toasted, and drained his cup.

…

Naeris had meant what they said as they departed the satyr’s glade. They were enjoying being lost, even if that sometimes meant almost dying. There was a freedom up here that didn’t exist elsewhere; here there was only one rule–don’t leave the path–and they had long since abandoned even that. There was an inherent unruliness to the Green Plateau that resonated with something deep inside Naeris. This place felt like home far more than the streets of the city or the oppressive society that lived within it had ever felt; they wondered if it was elf thing. They had met few others, and most of those had been of a different ilk–'high elves’ they’d called themselves, like they were inherently above the other kinds of elf. Naeris had learned then that they were a 'wood elf’, and the woman who had informed them of this had sneered down at them like they were stray cat. Which, Naeris supposed, made a lot of sense.

But, even so, Naeris was eager to return to the straight lines of the city where direction and time made sense. Not because they missed it, though there’s a lot of good to be said about comfortable beds and warm taverns, but because they had a job to do. Every day spent wandering here was a another day that could have been spent opposing the Divine Regent. The message they carried still burned a hole in their pocket–though, by now, it would probably arrive much to late to be of any use. The mission had been a time sensitive one, and while the passage of days was difficult to track here, Naeris estimated that they’d been wandering the Plateau for almost three months. They were amazed that they hadn’t died. Twice, they’d come close: once with the owlbear, and once with illness; and there had been numerous other encounters, some good, some bad, and some infuriating. Naeris would never trust a faerie dragon again.

Lost, both in thought and the woods, Naeris didn’t notice the hard stone path under their feet until their foot caught on a loose rock and intimately introduced them. Naeris brushed themself off and wondered why on earth anyone would build a stone path in the middle of thick for… their line of thought trailed off as they realised they had wandered into a clearing. The path underfoot was rough flagstone, worn by time and the roots of plants. Ahead, it formed a crossroads with three other, similar paths. Beyond, a sight that Naeris would later describe as their first, and only, religious experience.

The temple was in ruins, but it did not seem ruined by any meaning of the word. Rather, it seemed that ruin was the building’s natural state; it was designed to be a crumbling shell. Naeris couldn’t help but grin at the idea of it. Someone, long long ago, built a gigantic temple of marble and crystal that would have glimmered in the autumn sun like white and gold fire. It would have been magnificent, a soaring masterpiece of spires and archways. Entire new schools of architectural technique would have had to have been invented to complete it. Years–perhaps centuries–of planning and building, all just to have it torn down by the very god it was built to honour. But it was not ruined out of displeasure, or as punishment, or to teach a lesson to the mortals that dared construct it; no, this was just what the god did. They cared not for churches or temples–to be confined to a single location is worse than death. They cared not for the final product, but the act of the creation itself–the new arts and sciences it spawned, the radical new ideas dreamed up by the artist. Those were the point of it all. A single large building that nobody uses is useless–an entire army of trained artists and masons and architects, scattered to the four winds? That is something useful. Naeris finally understood. All they would find here was the most sacred thing a traveller could find–a safe place to spend the night.

In the ruins of the foyer, an elf of ambiguous gender sat by a camp-fire, waiting. They smiled warmly as Naeris entered, and gestured to a cushion on the other side of the fire. “You must be weary, little nightingale. Sit, eat, drink.”

Naeris bowed, and took a seat. “My thanks to you, Traveller,” they said with an almost undetectable emphasis on the last word.

“That is an old name you invoke, little nightingale,” the other elf said, grinning. “Are you so sure it’s the right one? You’ve had many failures in your search.”

Naeris met the other’s gaze. “I’m just calling you what you are. The nameless traveller; the wandering pilgrim; the mysterious outsider. You’re a god with no church, but hold sacred this location that can only be found by the truly lost. Nobody prays to you, but you’re worshipped by every wanderer whether they know it or not. Every act of creation or destruction, anything that changes–these all give you power. You, of all the gods, are the least in need of a mortal agent.”

The other just smiled, a wide toothy grin.

“So why?”

“That is your question to answer. That is your journey. I’ve just set you on the path.”

“That”, Naeris said with a wry grin, “is word-for-word the exact answer I was expecting.”

The Traveller laughed, a long, hearty laugh that echoed from the ruined walls of the temple. Naeris couldn’t help but laugh too–finally, after years of searching and failing, they understood. As the last echoes of their laughter faded, the Traveller stood and walked to the door. They paused briefly on the threshold, and said ��Oh, one last thing. When the time comes–and you’ll know when it does–remember that everything, and I mean everything, can change.”

And then the Traveller was gone.

…

The next morning, Naeris stood at the centre of the crossroads. They pulled a die from a pouch on their hip and threw it into the air. It landed with a clatter on the paving stones, a faded '3’ uppermost. “Right,” Naeris said to nobody in particular. “West it is.”

…

A week later, by Naeris’ reckoning, they emerged into a familiar roadside clearing where a tree grew next to the path. Four months had passed since they had left this very clearing and woken up in a swamp. They exhaled deeply, and set off, message in hand.

…

“Ah, you must be Agent Alleyborn,” a male elf greeted Naeris as they entered the encampment. “We received word that you would be arriving soon with an urgent delivery.”

“I’m not too late then?” Naeris was relieved.

“If anything, you’re slightly earlier than we expected,” the elf frowned. “We were anticipating that you’d be here tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Naeris paused for a moment. “Well, you know how time gets around here.”

[river-oceanus]

Interlude XIV

Merilin woke to the feeling of cold, damp stone pressed against their cheek. Something jabbed into their side–last night's dinner, a raw vegetable of some sort. Naeris, their mother had called it. Their mother! Where was she? Where was father? Merilin scrambled to their feet and looked around, but the alleyway was deserted. “Mama! Papa!” they called, but the only answer was a mocking echo. They didn't understand–both if them had been here last night. Mama had sung their favourite song to help them sleep, but now…

“Mama! Papa!”

A passing stranger–a dwarf, Merilin thought–looked toward the source of the cries, muttered something in a strange, harsh language, and kept moving.

“Mama! Papa!”

…

Cold, damp, and shivering, the small elf child cowered in the alleyway. It had rained during the afternoon, and they had been driven away from shelter by violent strangers. They had managed to steal another naeris from a vegetable merchant, but it was unfulfilling and tasted foul. They hadn't found their parents today, just like yesterday. They sniffed back another sob, and kept eating.

…

“Hey!”

The elf child started awake, a finger prodding their cheek. A large girl with greenish-gray skin and prominent tusks was staring down at them.

“What?” the elf responded in Elvish.

“Ugh,” she turned to look behind her, and the elf realised that there were a small group of other children behind her. “Anyone speak elf?”

The other children shook their heads.

“Well, we can't just leave… uh… them here.”

“Can't we?” a human boy asked. “We barely have enough to eat ourselves!”

The half-orc nudged the small pile of turnips near the elf. “Looks like they can fend for themselves. Probably been here a while–we could use another pair of hands and eyes.”

The elf looked at her in confusion, her words meaning nothing to them.

The half-orc smiled, and held out a loaf of bread. “Here, this'll be better than those turnips you've been eating.”

“Turnip”, a small black-feathered child repeated. “Good name.”

…

In a tree overlooking the ghostly ruins of Crossroads, Naeris stared at a scrap of paper.

“Merilin,” they said aloud for the first time in 30 years, tasting the shape of their name on their tongue. It felt awkward, but well-fitting, like a newly tailored set of leather armour.

[river-oceanus]

Interlude XIII

A hawk, carrying a larger-than-usual package thuds into the throne-room, clearly exhausted from its journey. It scrambles towards Queen Beryl, screaming threateningly at anyone that attempts to intercept it–except, oddly, the Queen's Seneschal, who it allows to pick it up and remove the package. His eyes scan the first few lines and he immediately orders the room to be cleared.

TOP SECRET PRIORITY XK-7 VANADI'S EYES ONLY

Seneschal Vanadi,

I won't waste time on pleasantries. We've located one of his old hidey-holes and I believe that the entire country is in danger. Further, I have reason to believe this threat is related to the seven-winged abyssal demon-lord we have previously discussed.

While travelling from White Harbour to the final pillar, we happened across a town that did not appear on our maps–your maps have probably been updated since we left, as we found it occupied by friendly forces. While investigating rumours about disappearances and strange lights in a nearby ruined lighthouse, we came across a magical door attached to one of the interior walls (sketch enclosed).

We breached the door to discover an extra-planar sanctum appointed with unfortunately familiar decor. Inside, we ran into the night hag we previously encountered at the old mansion and a spirit naga. The two were engaged in conversation, in what I am told is Abyssal. Further, I have reason to suspect that this sanctum was either located in the Abyss, or is at the very least Abyss-adjacent. There was a lovely set of windows that provided quite a macabre view, and it was definitely not an illusion.

Unfortunately, the hag was able to escape by casting plane shift upon herself. The naga is currently in our world, at the bottom on the ocean. We thought it would be safer than leaving her inside the sanctum to do who-knows-what.

I tell you all of this to provide context for what we discovered. A map of the kingdom, with 6 symbols drawn around the outside, forming a circle. At the rough centre, of course, is the capital (map is enclosed). I very much suspect that something terrible is being planned that involves that aforementioned demon-lord.

I have enclosed as many relevant documents as I could copy, and a personal letter to the Queen. The letter is unrelated to this report, and concerns the orphanage. I'd ask you to not read it, but I feel like that would be like trying to ask the sun to move backwards.

- Agent Alleyborn

[Included with the letter are sheets of paper giving precise, exacting details of all that transpired, and copies of important documents recovered from the sanctum]

[river-oceanus]

Interlude X

Whoops, I forgot to post this a couple of weeks ago!

Poor little nightingale, dying all alone

What?

Why are you dying? You have a job to do.

I'm… dying?

I thought that would have been obvious. You are hallucinating, after all.

Am I?

Aren't you?

…I know your voice. You're real.

Am I? Is Naeris? Is Lord Quirion? I'm as real as they are, and also just as fake.

What? Of course they're real. They're me!

Are they, little nightingale?

Why do you keep calling me that?

Work it out.

… why me? Why pick me?

You'll just have to wait and see.

What does tha-

Time to wake up, kid

[river-oceanus]

Interlude IX

Even as the battle surged around them–prisoners taking up blades against their former captors; Serif a whirl of cloak-and-feathers as he planted a succession of blows on a rough-looking thug; the centaur breaking down the walls of his too-small cell–Naeris was distracted by a small, niggling thought.

What if she doesn't outlaw slavery?

Naeris shrugged slightly as they put an arrow through a thug's shoulder.

I'd just have to kill her.

[river-oceanus]

Interlude VIII

I know you’re not really the type to actually listen–let alone answer–but… ugh, I can’t believe I’m actually praying to you. How fucking desperate must I be, right?

The forest gave way to open fields, and in the distance, a village. Over the gates, the Queen’s banners flapped in the cold wind.

But… I have to believe that you did all this to me for a reason. Other than just as a practical joke. I’m not sure I could actually deal with that right now.

“We will make it before night,” Wolf-puncher said. “Reindeer is with us.”

Just… please watch over those kids. They’re scared, alone, and lost in a strange land, like I once was. They could do with a bit of help from a fellow wanderer.

Naeris sighed, and slipped the holy symbol back under their coat. Ahead, Snowbridge waited.

[river-oceanus]

Interlude XI

A collection of loose pages, torn from a worn leather journal. The pages look to be 15-20 years old.

Tusk disappeared last night. She didn't show up at the usual time, so I went to check on her, and… fuck. What am I supposed to do now? There's no leads. No sign of a struggle. She's just… wind. Nobody saw anything. Nobody heard anything. Nothing anybody wants to tell, and I've used just about every trick in the book to get people to talk. Which leaves two options. Either she left of her own free will and doesn't want to be found, or she was taken by someone scarier than being gelded by hot steel.

If it's the first… she would have said something to me, right? We're best fucking friends. She wouldn't just leave town without telling me, or at least leaving a clue or a note as to when she'd be back. She's always done that before, even when she's been really fucking pissed at us all. To let us know she's safe, and not to worry. Which means she isn't.

I… don't know what to do.

…

[This section is written in a much heavier, less precise hand, and has some slight reddish-brown staining]

Cobbles is fucking dead. How could he? She went to see him last night to confess her feelings for him, and he doesn't even let her get a word in. The drunk fuck started unloading on her about how he felt about her and how much he hated how close she and I were and how she should try a “real man” and oh my fucking gods I broke my fist on his face. He's lucky I was too angry to think about pulling my dagger or he'd be fucking dead. Which he will be if he had anything to do with her leaving. I swear to the fucking gods, I'll even fucking overthrow our fucking Divine shit-Head Regent if I find out he had anything to do with it.

[a splotch of what is clearly dried blood]

Shit, I think I re-opened the stitches.

…

Still nothing. I… don't think Cobbles had anything to do with it. He's… done nothing but drink since he found out. I never understood that–if you're drinking, you're not doing anything to fix the problem. Still, let him pickle himself. Like I fucking care.

She's been gone too long without contact for this to be normal. Even if she left to get some fresh air, clear her head, punch trees, or whatever it is she does to calm down, she'd have sent word that she was fine by now. None of the guild have heard anything, and none of my contacts have seen or heard anything either. Which, even given her skills, is highly suspicious.

That just leaves one possibility–she got nabbed by someone/something after her fight with Cobbles. Someone either powerful enough to do so without anyone, anywhere, spotting them; or someone terrifying enough to silence all the witnesses without a word. It's looking like a pretty narrow field of suspects. I could cover more ground if I didn't have to run the stupid cards. Given how today went, I might be able to request a new gig–fucking rich prick made the con and bled me fucking dry. Vanished without a trace afterwards too. Seems to be a lot of that going around and it fucks me right off.

I'm going to go drop in on Banehands, and see if he's heard anything. If this is my last entry… well.. I expect you to avenge me (and Dirk, while you're at it).

[river-oceanus]

Interlude VI

Turnip kept a close eye on the fruit-vendor as they scurried through the crowded streets. A maid from one of the noble houses would be passing this way soon, and she always stopped to pick up a fresh orange. Cobbles said that the fruit-vendor was sweet on the maid, and that meant her otherwise watchful gaze would be distracted away from her produce; the perfect time to strike. Timing was everything–the slightest hesitation could cost you your life. Or worse.

Go left.

Turnip slipped around a crate to the left, reflexively following a gut instinct, and a guard jangled past to the right. Turnip offered a brief prayer of thanks to whoever was listening. It was an odd habit they had picked up from Tusks; she believed that there were still gods out there who cared about people. Turnip wasn't so sure, and had started doing it to poke fun at her–but there was something sort-of reassuring about it.

“Ah, good morning Miss Dolomite,” the fruit vendor said, a certain tone to her voice. The maid had arrived.

She's too early. Something's wrong.

Unable to shake the feeling, Turnip moved to get a better view of the exchange. Miss Dolomite, the maid, seemed shaken. Cobbles signalled from the other side of the street–go now! Turnip signalled back–caution!–and scanned the crowd. Guards–too many of them. Something was not right. A metal hand clamped down on the elf's shoulder, and Turnip froze.

“Get out of here, kid,” the guard hissed. “Don't come back here today.”

Turnip hesitated, uncertain. The guard–a male dwarf with a jagged scar across one cheek–looked them right in the eye. “I mean it kid,” he said not unkindly. “You shouldn't be here. Don't make me arrest you.”

Turnip nodded. “Thanks,” they said as they slipped away, and surprised themselves by meaning it. The guard's tone had been pleading, rather than threatening; Turnip felt sad for him, suddenly. I guess we all have to do things we don't want to do.

….

“You missed all the excitement,” Cobbles told them when they got back to the hideout. “Half the market got arrested and taken in for 'questioning'.”

Turnip raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yeah. Word is that the maid and the fruit-vendor are actually spies for an enemy of the state. Everyone they've ever talked to is being arrested.”

“Must be some enemy,” Turnip said.

“Yeah,” Cobbles agreed. “Anyway, orders are to keep ourselves scarce until this blows over. Derrick doesn't want any of us getting nabbed.”

“Like he actually cares what happens to us,” Turnip said derisively. “He's just worried we'll turn him in.”

….

Naeris ducked into an alleyway, the hard thudding of boots not far behind. “Hacha!” they swore as they skidded to halt in front of a wall. Behind them, a guard blocked the only exit.

“Give it up, elf,” the guard growled. “There's nowhere to go.”

Naeris drew their short-sword and dropped into a fighting stance. “There’s always through you.”

“Moradin's beard,” the dwarf spat as he readied his axe. “I was hoping you'd just give up.”

Wait a minute…

“Moradin's beard? I wasn't aware the Divine Regent tolerated blasphemy from his guards.”

“Coal calling the charcoal black,” the guard gestured at his neck. “That's quite a collection of illicit goods you're wearing there, elf.”

“One of the perks of being a criminal, dwarf, is that I get to ignore the laws that I think are terrible.”

“Like murder and theft, I bet,” the dwarf sneered. “You're all the same; opportunists profiting from the misfortune of others.”

Naeris' expression went dark. “You don't get to ride the high-horse in this situation,” they said flatly. “Enforcing brutal laws. Arresting and executing children.” They shook their head. “I guess you are just another cog in the Regents machinations.”

“Are we done talking?”

“I think so. Now, flee.”

“…”

“…”

“Was that little spell supposed to do anything?” the guard asked, as he narrowly missed Naeris with his axe.

“… yes,” Naeris responded as they cut a new hole in the guard's tunic, but grated off his chain-mail. “You were supposed to run.”

“Didn't you just say you were going to kill me?” the guard said, his axe slicing open Naeris' left arm.

“I'd prefer not to, all things considered,” Naeris' said. “Killing's not my game; not my bosses' either.” A waved hand and a muttered spell healed the damaged arm.

“And, who,” the dwarf asked between axe swings, “might that be?”

“Someone who believes in second chances,” they said. “Pretty hard to offer those to dead men.” Naeris' blades hit something soft and fleshy.

“Urk,” the guard bubbled and fell to the ground; his helmet falling off as he went.

“Umrhach,” Naeris cursed.

…

“Murh?”

“Oh good,” Naeris said, “you're still alive.”

The dwarf blinked, and looked around at the small, featureless room. “Where have you taken me?”

“Somewhere safe,” Naeris shrugged. “Don't try to stand; I haven't finished tending to your wounds.”

The guard looked distrustful. “… why are you helping me?”

“Because,” Naeris said as they started casting a healing spell, “a long time ago, your sense of decency stopped you from arresting a child. I wanted to thank you–and to see if you were still a decent person, under all that armour.”

“Oh.” The dwarf regarded Naeris carefully. “I thought you seemed familiar.”

Naeris smiled faintly. “You know, if you had just arrested me then and there, you could have stopped one of the most wanted criminals in the city without ever knowing it.”

“Moradin's beard, you're Naeris?” The dwarf was incredulous.

“The one and only. Regretting letting me go?”

“… no. I've heard the stories the common folk tell about you.”

“Just trying to help people out. Someone has to,” they paused. “No offence.”

“No, that's fair,” the dwarf sighed. “It wasn't always like this, you know.”

“It doesn't have to keep being like this,” Naeris said. “Help me.”

“… what do you want me to do?”

“There's someone I'd like you to meet. I think you'll like her.”

….

A drop of water landed on Naeris' forehead, and interrupted their trance. It feels like it was all so long ago, they thought as they pulled up their hood. I hope he found peace, in the end.

Naeris sat quietly in the tree they had been sleeping in, and listened to the rain drumming on the tents below.

[river-oceanus]

Interlude V

The Assistant Archivist paused between papers. She'd been given a simple task–collate, index, and store transcriptions from interviews with field agents from the war. It had a been a long, boring process–she wasn't allowed to read them, just note who the interview was with, the date it occurred, and then file it away for archival. This one, though, gave her pause. She stared at the name of the field agent. It couldn't be.

She thought of the scruffy-haired blond elf that helped her get this job–that had given her a place to stay, and food to eat. She thought of the haughty, self-possessed nobleman who had given her a few gold on the streets and then directions to the orphanage. She tried to picture them in the same room together, and realised she'd never seen it happen.

“Oh,” she said. “I guess that makes sense.”

She began to read.

Transcribed from an interview with Agent Naeris Alleyborn–codename “Quirion”–conducted by Spymaster Slate.

We have had some reports on your… abilities. “Suspiciously magical”, according to one agent. You neglected to mention any magical abilities when you started working for us–care to comment?

Not really? We all have our tricks and secrets. You pay me to steal secrets, not share them.

Fair; but if we know what you can do, we can better utilise your talents. And more seriously, we need to know if this is going to pose any risk to us.

How do you mean? What risk could there be?

Well, for example, if your powers were gained by divine providence we need to know that your deity isn't going to tell you to turn on us.

I… *sigh*.

Please answer the question, Agent Alleyborn. Or would you prefer 'Turnip'?

You seem to already know the answer, Spymaster Slate–or can I call you Reggie? Tell me, does your wife know about your little side-business? Does she wonder why you can always find a little bit of extra cash when you need it?

Agent, you are treading on very dangerous ground.

So are you, Reggie. Do you really want me to answer your question? I do good work. I do good work for you. Does anything else really matter?

If you want to keep working for us, you will answer the question, Agent.

Yeah, alright, though like I said, you already seem to know the answer. As you suggest, with your suspiciously specific example, I got some tricks from someone a bit higher-up than most. Not all of it–I am actually quite skilled at infiltration and reconnaissance by my own power, thank you.

And if you had to give this 'someone' a name?

That, Reggie, is a really good question.

That is why I asked it. Now please, answer it.

I… can't. Not really. And before you give me an earful, it's not because I'm trying to avoid answering the question. The actual, honest, strike-me-dead-if-I'm-lying answer is that I don't know. I suspect it might be The Traveler.

One of the evil human gods?

I can see why you might think that, Mr Law-and-Order, but no. A trickster, sure, and a god of chaos, but neither of those are inherently evil. Objectionable to someone who thinks in straight lines, I guess, but not morally reprehensible.

So what does a human god want with with a wood elf? Or this war?

Beats me. Thought it was funny, I guess. As far as the war goes… I mean, we are fighting against a tyrannical autocratic regime that rules through oppression and fear. That seems pretty antithetical to The Traveler to me.

Can we trust you?

I'm a little offended by that question, Reggie, but I can see where you're coming from. I mean, I do deceive people for a living. Throw in a “Dark God” and it makes for a very untrustworthy picture.

But understand me: I would die for Princess Beryl if I thought it would ensure a life of freedom and happiness for the people of this country. Don't let my flippancy mislead you, Spymaster Slate. I take my job as seriously as you take yours.

I mean sure, our methods may be different, and I might have a little help from less-than-honest sources, but I swear to you, here and now, that I will see Princess Beryl crowned as Queen of the Iron Kingdom.

Why?

Have you ever seen the capital, Spymaster? Walked its street? Lived among its people? I have. 30 years, I lived there. It was the only life I knew. Violence. Fear. Never sleeping in the same gutter twice, for fear that they would take you away. Losing friends–and enemies–to the thugs the Divine Regent called his 'city watch'. The rule of law, applied without mercy. Children executed for crimes they were forced to commit to survive. I would give my life five–ten times over if I thought it would bring a single glimmer of hope to those people.

That'll have to do, I suppose. Now, regarding your next mission…

[ DATA EXPUNGED]

I think that will be all for today Agent. Unless you have any more “fun facts” about me you'd like to share?

Well, I've always wanted to ask where you got that tattoo done. I've been thinking of getting one myself, and-

That will be all, Agent.

A pleasure, as always.

[river-oceanus]

Interlude II

Lord Quirion Naïlo listened intently to Lady Avagond as she regaled him with news from the last week. Lord Naïlo always listened intently, with a slight nod here and there, and the right noises of questioning and interest. A non-answer to a question, perfectly timed, to keep the conversation flowing. A sly wink here, with a subtle innuendo. Lord Quirion was an excellent conversation partner–as long as nobody noticed that he never really talked all that much.

Inwardly, Naeris was only half paying attention.

Lord Naïlo chuckled at her joke, and smiled suggestively. “Your humour, milady” he said coyly, “is as enchanting as you are.” “That's very nice of you say, Quirion, but we both know that my humour isn't the reason you're here.” “Lady Avagond, I would never!” Quirion said in mock outrage, and then looked furtive. “Not while your husband was in town.” “He's out on business at the moment,” Lady Avagond tittered, “I'm afraid it's left my bed quite cold. I don't suppose you know where I could find a good warming-stone?”

…

Naeris stepped into the warm bath, and sank into its embrace. Intimacy always left an unclean feeling, and that–like many things–could only be remedied by a good soak. Naeris didn't mind the work–it was effective, after all. But they certainly didn't enjoy it. Not the same way their colleagues seemed to. The whole affair just seemed so… unnecessary.

But the weeks of courting had finally paid off. Afterwards, Lady Avagond had let slip that she had been involved in artificially inflating the price of lumber in order to increase profits during the rebuilding efforts. A minor trifle to a fellow noble like Lord Quirion Naïlo, but it was pure platinum to Naeris Alleyborn–the Carpenter's Guild alone would pay enough to keep Dirk's Haven open for at least another three months.

Naeris toweled off, and slipped into their more comfortable dark leathers. Lord Naïlo's guise, while comfortable, was far too eye-catching for what they had planned tonight.