Sloane and Nemura were marched down a narrow, dimly lit hallway, their hands tightly manacled in front of them. The oppressive air was damp and musty, and the rhythmic drips of water added a haunting cadence to their every step. Sloane strained to hear beyond the jangling of the guards' armor, hoping to catch any sound that could provide insight into their location. The muted voices of other prisoners carried through the winding passages, taunting her with fragments of their conversation.
Despite the discomfort of her bound hands, Sloane kept her head held high and her expression neutral. She couldn't afford to show any weakness or fear in front of the guards. Nemura walked beside her, her own face set in a grim mask of determination.
At last, their journey led them to a formidable iron door. One of the guards, holding an authoritative air, reached into a pocket and pulled out a set of keys. He smoothly inserted the chosen key into the lock, turning it with a soft click. The weighty door groaned in protest as it was pushed open, revealing the world beyond its threshold.
Sloane and Nemura found themselves being ushered into a dimly lit antechamber. Its gloomy ambiance was emphasized by the cells lining the left and right walls, each holding their own silent tales of the inhabitants they'd housed over the years.
A telv man and high elf woman stood beside a table, a sack sitting open and ready between them. The man scowled as they approached.
“What have we here,” he sneered, eyeing Sloane and Nemura with contempt. “A couple of murderers, it seems.”
The guards that escorted them removed their manacles before placing the things they’d already taken onto the table. Sloane rubbed her wrists as the man examined their belongings. He gestured to the sack. “Strip down completely and place everything in the sack.”
Sloane’s eyes narrowed. “I am not stripping down in front of you.”
She was shoved from behind by one of the guards. “You don’t give orders here. Strip.”
Sloane felt her blood boil with anger at the guard's disrespectful shove. She straightened her back, and her eyes narrowed into thin slits as she met his gaze. Her lips twisted into a sneer, revealing a flash of teeth.
“I said I am not stripping down in front of you,” she spat out, her voice thick with barely contained rage.
The guard's face twisted in a mocking grin. “Oh, what's the matter? Scared we'll see your pretty little body?”
Sloane felt her cheeks heat up, and her grip on her mana intensified. She drew on the power around her, feeling it flow into her channels and electrify her entire being. Four [Mana Bolts] appeared above her shoulders, flickering with purple arcane energy that illuminated the dimly lit chamber.
Her eyes glowed and crackled with an otherworldly fury as she met the guard's gaze once more. “I suggest you back off,” she growled, her voice laced with menace. “I have been cooperative, but if you force me, I will defend myself.”
The guard took a step back, his face pale with fear. The woman sighed and gestured towards the sack. “Just put your stuff in there, then,” she mumbled, her voice barely audible over the sound of Sloane's mana crackling in the air
Sloane narrowed her eyes in triumph and turned toward the table. She looked for her runic sword, only to find it missing.
“Where is my sword?” she demanded, turning towards the guards once more.
The second guard, a larger telv next to Nemura, smiled. “You may have him scared, but your little trick doesn’t scare me. You had no sword. So–”
The man’s nose erupted in blood as Nemura headbutted him.
Sloane couldn't help but smirk as she watched Nemura take down the guard. The sound of his nose breaking echoed through the room, and the other guards drew their weapons. Sloane took a step forward, her Mana Bolts still hovering over her shoulders. “I suggest you return our weapons before things get messy,” she said, her voice cold and threatening.
The telv man who had been examining their belongings stepped forward. “You two are in no position to make demands,” he spat. “You're lucky we haven't thrown you in a cell already.”
Sloane's eyes flicked to the sack on the table. “Our belongings," she repeated, preparing an [Arcane Lance]. “Or there will be consequences.”
The man's hesitation was palpable. Sloane studied his eyes and saw fear–an emotion she rarely saw in people in positions where they were supposed to hold all the cards. She knew then that she held the upper hand. This newfound realization steeled her resolve; she wouldn't let them prey on her and Nemura any longer.
After a prolonged silence that seemed to stretch into eternity, the man finally acquiesced, subtly nodding to the guard stationed beside her.
“Where’s her sword?” he demanded.
The guard’s eyes widened. “H-He left it in the wagon.”
“Well get it!” the man shouted. “Now!”
While the man ran off, Sloane and Nemura began to remove their armor and other belongings that they still had. Sloane hesitated at her wrist, but the high elf woman caught her. “The bracelet too.”
“If this goes missing, I will burn the city down,” Sloane said evenly. She was already tired of the city and tired of being waylaid. They needed to leave, and they only had four days before the ship left.
They could not get stuck here.
The woman nodded. “I will ensure it does not then.”
Sloane slowly removed her watch and held it out to the woman. Her eyes narrowed. “I will trust you, but do not forget what you promised.”
The woman hesitated, but then nodded and grabbed the watch.
As they finished gathering their things, the other guard returned, holding onto her sword, and quickly placed it on the table with everything else.
Sloane turned to the telv man once more. “If anything is missing or damaged, there will be problems,” she warned, her eyes still filled with arcane energy.
The man just sneered in response, but Sloane could see the hint of fear still present in his expression. She let her magic dissipate and glanced at Nemura. The woman nodded, she was clearly just as determined to get out of this jail as Sloane was.
“Over here,” the high elf woman said with a gesture to one of the cells. “You will get two meals per day, the bucket will be replaced at the end of each day. Do not cause any issues. Your trial will be determined tomorrow.”
Sloane and Nemura were shoved into the small cell, and the heavy iron door slammed shut behind them.
Her heart sank as she surveyed the confined cell. The walls, damp and cold, seemed to close in on her, and the air was heavy with a stagnant odor that made her nose wrinkle.
Leaning against the uninviting wall, she ran a hand through her hair, a sigh escaping her lips as the gravity of the situation fully sank in.
“Well, shit,” Sloane mumbled to herself.
Nemura scanned the cell, her eyes thoughtful. “We just need to last a bit longer. If all else fails, you have your magic.”
Sloane pushed off of the wall and began pacing the cell, her mind racing. Stefan was out there with Mariel, surely the man would be working something out.
“Relax, there is nothing we can do right now. Stefan is resourceful. He’ll figure it out,” Nemura said as if reading Sloane’s mind.
She could only groan in response.
Four days.
The final bell of the day sounded in the distance as Stefan sat quietly.
Stefan found himself casting a curious look around the spacious office he and Mariel occupied. He was struck by the distinctiveness of the decor within the Guildmaster's office. The room was generously proportioned, filled to the brim with a peculiar assortment of trinkets and artifacts.
Shelves lining the walls heaved under the weight of countless books, scrolls, and a collection of mysterious items that Stefan could not readily identify. Situated at the heart of the room was an imposing, ornate desk, its surface adorned with intricate carvings that added to its grandeur. Complementing the setting were plush, comfortable chairs, their elaborate embroidery and gold trimmings hinting at a flair for luxurious comfort.
Seated behind the desk, lending the room an aura of authority, was the Guildmaster. The telv's stern countenance and piercing blue eyes provided a stark contrast to the curious warmth of the room. He surveyed Stefan and Mariel with a demeanor of cool detachment.
“I have heard some disturbing reports, Mister Stranca,” he said, his voice low, sure.
Stefan sat up straighter in his chair, trying to convey an air of professionalism despite the sweat on his brow. Mariel sat next to Stefan, the thirteen-year-old trying to make herself seem small as the two men talked.
“What is that, Guildmaster?” he asked.
“A terran noble has been arrested, which is interesting in itself,” the Guildmaster began, his tone cool and detached. “I received word that Lady Reinhart would pass through our fair city some time ago from my friend, Guildmaster Romaris. My understanding was that you were only contracted to guard Lanthil’s niece and the lady on their way to Marketbol, yet here you are having joined the terran’s House.”
Stefan nodded. “Yes, that was the original agreement. However, circumstances changed. Lady Reinhart has proven to be a positive force, one that will benefit the Guilds.”
The Guildmaster raised an eyebrow skeptically. "And how exactly is that?"
Stefan hesitated, trying to come up with a convincing argument. “Lady Reinhart has knowledge and skills that can be of great use to us. The Banking Guild, alone, will not wish to see her harmed.”
The Guildmaster leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers together in front of him. “I see. And what of the accusations against her? Do you deny them? Mind you, I have it on good authority that you were involved.”
Stefan took a deep breath. “I cannot deny that we were involved, Guildmaster,” Stefan admitted. “But the situation is not as straightforward as it may seem. I am unsure how the Guard was made aware, and what information they were given, but we did not kill the paladin. We were meeting him there regarding a situation within the Church.”
The Guildmaster raised a brow but did not reply. Stefan continued, “We found the paladin dead when we arrived, and we were then attacked by people who oppose the Church. They were the ones that set a trap for us, so we defended ourselves.”
Guildmaster Cross’s expression remained impassive as he listened to Stefan’s explanation. Mariel shifted nervously in her seat beside Stefan, and he reached over to place a comforting hand on her shoulder.
“We need your help, Guildmaster,” Stefan said. “To keep Mariel safe while I work to clear Lady Reinhart’s name and get her out of jail. It is in the best interest of the guilds.”
The Guildmaster drummed his fingers on the desk for a moment, considering Stefan’s words. Finally, he spoke.
“Very well. I will see what I can do to help you, if only out of my friendship with Lanthil. But you must understand, Mister Stranca, the Blades Guild cannot directly interfere with the city’s leadership. We are a guild that works in the shadows. You need a way to bring your plight into the light.”
Stefan nodded. “I appreciate your help, Guildmaster.”
The Guildmaster tapped on his desk, signaling the end of the meeting and the three of them stood. “I will make arrangements for Mariel’s safety, and I will see what I can do to help with Lady Reinhart’s release. In the meantime, you should look for Evocati Yemina. That is if she is not already dead.”
The Blade shared a glance with the priestess, and he could see the weight of everything bearing down on the young girl.
“I will do that, Guildmaster.”
The man nodded. “Good, now,” he said as he reached into his desk and pulled out a small scroll. “Go here. Make sure you are not followed. Two Blades will arrive. They will repeat the phrase written on that scroll. If they do not repeat it verbatim, something is wrong.”
“Understood. Thank you, Guildmaster.”
Stefan took the scroll and quickly committed its contents to memory before he tucked it safely into his pocket. Mariel followed him out of the office and they made their way through the Blade's Guild headquarters to the exit. As they stepped outside into the fading daylight, Stefan turned to Mariel.
“Stay close to me,” he said. “We need to be cautious from now on.”
Mariel nodded, her eyes wide with worry. Stefan comfortingly clasped her hand, and together they began to make their way through the busy streets of the city. They passed by merchants hawking their wares, travelers exploring new sights, vigilant guards and desperate beggars, all blissfully unaware of the danger that lurked in the shadows.
Stefan's gaze ceaselessly scanned the sea of faces around them, hunting for any telltale signs of a threat. Mariel held his hand tight, her wide eyes darting in response to every movement, every unfamiliar sound. They navigated the thoroughfares swiftly, their efforts focused on not drawing undue attention.
At last, they reached the destination given to them by the Guildmaster. It was a narrow alleyway squeezed between two towering structures, a gloomy space bereft of activity. Stefan gave a quick sweep of his surroundings but found no one lurking. Withdrawing the scroll from his pocket, he carefully read out the inscribed phrase. An eerie silence ensued for a moment, only to be broken by a voice that materialized from the shadows behind him, articulating in the enchanting tongue of the moon elves.
“Al ta ella mestar.”
The fox hunts alone.
“But the wolf hunts in a pack,” he replied. Stefan turned to see two Blades standing behind him, their faces obscured by their hoods.
He relaxed slightly, knowing that they were there to help.
“Follow us,” one of them said, a woman, and they turned and disappeared into the shadows. Stefan and Mariel followed, their hearts racing with anticipation.
Yemina looked down at the body of Fynn, a young vicori of the order. His remains lay on a stone table within the temple, the two city guardsmen who had delivered him standing quietly nearby. Yemina's heart sank at the sight of the lifeless body. Fynn had been a promising young vicori, eager to serve the Church and bring light to the world.
And now he was dead, another casualty in whatever shadow war was claiming the lives of her brothers and sisters in Alos.
The worst part was, she had no way to call for help.
Praetor Moren was missing, and presumed dead. The man and his squad were ambushed on the way to visit a nearby town to deal with a reported monster sighting. She'd been unable to locate any of them since, and the scene itself had been littered with bits of broken armor, blood, and bones. All scattered as if to seem like a monster attack at first glance, but she suspected otherwise. Especially, since the amount wasn’t enough to account for the Praetor and the four members of his squad.
The man had even made sure to take extra men because of a monster attack that had claimed the lives of an evocati and his vicori trainee several weeks prior.
Then there was the fact that the Temple Guards were likely compromised. She wasn't sure how, or why, but it appeared that several priests were ordering clandestine operations. But she had even less evidence of that theory.
She didn't think she'd find it. Nothing added up, but she knew one thing.
As the last surviving paladin in the city where it appeared they were being targeted, she knew it was only a matter of time before whoever was behind this came for her.
She knelt beside the table and closed her eyes, offering a prayer for the young man’s soul.
When she opened them again, she looked up at the guards.
“Are these all of his effects?” she asked, gesturing toward the small sack they had brought.
The guard on the left shifted uncomfortably. “We believe so, ma’am. But we don’t know whether his killers took anything.”
Yemina sighed as she scrutinized the vicori’s face. His youthful features were peaceful even in death.
“And the killer?” she asked levelly.
“We caught one of them, ma’am,” the guard on the right answered. “A terran noblewoman. She’s being held in the city’s prison.”
“And the others?” Yemina pressed.
“There was only one other. We’re still searching for him,” the guard replied. “But we believe he is still within the city. We’ve sent out patrols to try and find him.”
Yemina nodded.
“Thank you again, guardsmen.”
The two men nodded and saluted before making their way out of the temple. A priest entered the room after they left, the telv man’s eyes focusing on Fynn’s body.
“We will prepare his body, Evocati,” the man said.
Yemina placed a hand on the priest’s shoulder. “Thank you. Take care of him, send him off to Relena at his best.”
The man nodded. “We will, Evocati. Be safe.”
She gave him a weak smile. “Alos Protects.”
As she left the temple, Yemina couldn’t shake off the feeling that something wasn’t adding up.
Before the guards and Fynn’s body had even arrived, she’d already inquired with a contact in the City Guard. They had only known about the attack after receiving a tip from a passerby. They had no true evidence other than verbal testimony that the terran woman had even been there.
She glanced up at the dark expanse of the sky, lost in thought about how to peel back the layers of deceit shrouding the city. The intricate web of secrets and lies seemed impenetrable, but she knew that she needed more information before she could act. Resolute, she decided to visit the site of the recent attack in Emerald Groves Park, hoping that it might shed light on the unsettling events that had unfolded.
As Yemina navigated the winding streets under the cover of darkness, a knot of apprehension settled in her stomach. She was acutely aware of her vulnerability; alone and in a city where certain people wanted her dead.
Her journey took her through deserted streets, her footfalls echoing off stone walls and her crimson armor reflecting the sporadic glow of passing lamps. Her hand never strayed far from the hilt of her sword, always alert to any sign of danger. The distant cries of stray dogs and the whispering rustle of wind-tossed leaves were her only companions.
Upon reaching the locked gates of Emerald Groves Park, she deftly scaled the wall and descended into the hushed greenery. The park was steeped in an uncanny silence, the only sign of life being the occasional rustle in the undergrowth. With careful, measured steps, Yemina approached the site of the attack, her senses razor-sharp.
The sight of the fountain was a grim reminder of Fynn's fate, his lifeless body found near the bench where she now stood. Her eyes scoured the area meticulously, searching for anything that could provide a clue to the truth behind the brutal attack. Footprints, disturbances in the foliage, discarded objects – she investigated everything, yet found nothing unusual. Each dead-end served only to deepen the mystery.
In a moment of weariness, Yemina slumped onto the bench, her investigation seemingly going nowhere. She took a deep, calming breath, striving to quiet her frantic thoughts. But as her eyes fluttered open, they fell upon a small piece of paper lodged under the bench. Recognition hit her as she deciphered the handwriting—it was Fynn’s.
The note read, ‘Mt trn. grl key.’
Her eyes widened. She quickly realized that the note was a message from Fynn to her.
Yemina furrowed her brow as she read the note again, trying to make sense of the jumbled letters. After a moment, the meaning finally clicked into place and she understood what Fynn was trying to tell her. She realized that the key to whatever was going on and to uncovering the truth was the terran and some girl.
With renewed urgency, she stashed the note in her belt pouch and sprang to her feet.
Who the girl was, Yemina had no idea, but she knew this was a lead she could not afford to ignore.
She left the park and returned to the deserted streets, her mind spinning with possibilities. It was essential she discover the identity of this key girl and why her association with the terran noblewoman led to Fynn's death.
She had to get to the prison and meet the terran noblewoman, whoever she was before it was too late. She couldn't shake off the feeling that time was running out.
As she navigated the labyrinth of streets, Yemina realized she was being followed by three men. Despite quickening her pace and reaching for her sword, their pursuit remained relentless. She attempted to evade them by darting into a narrow alleyway, only to be met by three additional figures, effectively cutting off her escape route.
Yemina was trapped.
The glint of steel caught the moonlight as she drew her sword with a swift motion.
If this was her time to die, she’d show them Alos’s fury before she breathed her last.
Stefan made his way through the streets at a purposeful pace. His mind was racing as he thought about Mariel's safety, and all he needed to do to help Sloane. He had left the young priestess with the two Blades at a safe house, and he hoped they could keep her hidden until he returned. He couldn't bear the thought of her being caught up in the violence that seemed to be consuming the city.
He needed to find the sole remaining paladin of the city. He had just left the temple, and couldn’t find anyone that knew where she was. He had been about to give up when a priest pulled him to the side and whispered to him that Yemina had gone to the park. Stefan knew exactly which park the man meant, and he made his way there as quickly as possible.
As Stefan strode through the streets of Swanbrook, he caught sight of a trail of crimson liquid that led into a narrow alley. Every fiber of his being told him to turn back, but he couldn't ignore the nagging sense that something was amiss. After a moment's hesitation, he gritted his teeth and stepped resolutely into the shadowy passage.
Stefan followed the trail of blood deeper into the alley, he kept himself alert, and on edge. His [Danger Sense] was quiet, but he knew that it wasn’t perfect. As he turned a corner, he saw a figure in the distance, a woman in red plate armor, barely standing on her feet. She was stumbling and dragging her hand along the wall for support, leaving a smear of blood in her wake.
He rushed forward, seeing that it was a sun elf, and called out to the woman, but she didn’t seem to hear him. He reached out to steady her, and she turned to face him, her eyes locking onto his, pain and determination in her expression. The woman reached down for a dagger that sat on her waist.
Stefan jumped back and raised his hands. “Wait! Let me help you.”
The woman's eyes narrowed, and she studied Stefan carefully before nodding and relaxing her grip on the dagger. Stefan noticed that her armor was badly damaged, and blood had soaked through the fabric underneath.
“Who did this to you?” Stefan asked as he wrapped his arm around her to help the sun elf walk.
The woman's expression darkened, and she clenched her jaw. “Six men in black hooded armor. Magic users,” she said through gritted teeth. “They caught me off guard.”
“You got away?” Stefan asked, looking over his shoulder for anyone who could be looking for her.
She shook her head. “They’re dead,” she said with a wince.
He studied the woman before him, her armor and tabard strikingly familiar. His eyes widened in realization as he locked gaze with the sun elf. “You're Evocati Yemina.”
With a feeble nod, Yemina confirmed his suspicion, her grip on her dagger slackening as she leaned heavily against Stefan. “Yes,” she managed to utter, her voice no louder than a fragile whisper.
A pang of sorrow hit Stefan as he saw the highly esteemed Evocati in such a dire condition. “We need to get you help,” he asserted resolutely, aiding her to keep moving.
Yemina nodded, her voice trembling. “Not the temple. Traitors…” As her words trailed off, Stefan saw her eyelids growing heavy. He realized the urgency of their situation–they had to find help soon, or Yemina might not pull through. So they pressed on, Stefan continuously scanning their surroundings for any potential threats.
I’ve got to get her to the safe house.
Supporting Yemina's weight, Stefan navigated the labyrinth of alleyways, inching closer to the safe house. The journey was an arduous one, but they eventually reached their destination. Shouting out to the two Blades within, they were promptly granted entry.
As they stepped inside, the Blades immediately rushed over, helping Stefan get Yemina onto a bed. After a quick examination of her wounds, Stefan knew that they were beyond his ability to treat. He needed a skilled healer or surgeon. He turned to his companions urgently. “We need to find a surgeon. Now.”
One of the Blades acknowledged the command and bolted out of the room. The other stayed behind, helping Stefan in stabilizing Yemina.
Meanwhile, Mariel, huddled in a corner of the room, looked on with undisguised terror as they tended to Yemina's injuries. Stefan could tell she yearned to be of assistance, yet understood her helplessness in the situation. With no other recourse, she remained where she was, eyes shut, sending silent prayers to the gods for Yemina's recovery.
Sloane was jolted awake by the harsh, resonant bangs reverberating through the confines of their diminutive cell. An insistent throb pulsed in her head, eliciting a groan as she made an effort to prop herself up. As she massaged her temples, she surveyed the scant space around her, her gaze falling on the corroded iron bars, the grimy walls marked by stains of an indiscernible past, and the floor marred by layers of filth. Memories from the previous night rushed back, and a knot of stress and anxiety lodged itself in her stomach.
Beside her, Nemura was already awake, perched pensively on the edge of the cell's lone, pitiful excuse for a bed.
“What's going on?” Sloane muttered, rubbing her eyes.
Before Nemura could respond, the door creaked open, and a guard stepped in, his armor clanging against the stone. “Get up,” he growled, his expression grim. “You’re expected by the Justicar.”
Sloane and Nemura got up slowly, their muscles sore and their bodies exhausted. The guard led them out of the cell and into an antechamber, where twenty fully armored soldiers were waiting for them. They all had shields and spears out and at the ready, their eyes fixed on the two prisoners.
The telv man from the night prior stood there at the head of the assembly. “There will be no repeats of last night. Try anything and you will both be killed.”
Sloane’s eyes narrowed, but she did not respond.
The man took her silence for acceptance and gestured toward the door.
As Sloane and Nemura started walking, all of the soldiers moved into formation around them.
Sloane swallowed hard as the severity of their situation started to settle into her.
I hope Stefan is having more luck.
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Sloane and Nemura were marched down a narrow, dimly lit hallway, their hands tightly manacled in front of them. The oppressive air was damp and musty, and the rhythmic drips of water added a haunting cadence to their every step. Sloane strained to hear beyond the jangling of the guards' armor, hoping to catch any sound that could provide insight into their location. The muted voices of other prisoners carried through the winding passages, taunting her with fragments of their conversation.
Despite the discomfort of her bound hands, Sloane kept her head held high and her expression neutral. She couldn't afford to show any weakness or fear in front of the guards. Nemura walked beside her, her own face set in a grim mask of determination.
At last, their journey led them to a formidable iron door. One of the guards, holding an authoritative air, reached into a pocket and pulled out a set of keys. He smoothly inserted the chosen key into the lock, turning it with a soft click. The weighty door groaned in protest as it was pushed open, revealing the world beyond its threshold.
Sloane and Nemura found themselves being ushered into a dimly lit antechamber. Its gloomy ambiance was emphasized by the cells lining the left and right walls, each holding their own silent tales of the inhabitants they'd housed over the years.
A telv man and high elf woman stood beside a table, a sack sitting open and ready between them. The man scowled as they approached.
“What have we here,” he sneered, eyeing Sloane and Nemura with contempt. “A couple of murderers, it seems.”
The guards that escorted them removed their manacles before placing the things they’d already taken onto the table. Sloane rubbed her wrists as the man examined their belongings. He gestured to the sack. “Strip down completely and place everything in the sack.”
Sloane’s eyes narrowed. “I am not stripping down in front of you.”
She was shoved from behind by one of the guards. “You don’t give orders here. Strip.”
Sloane felt her blood boil with anger at the guard's disrespectful shove. She straightened her back, and her eyes narrowed into thin slits as she met his gaze. Her lips twisted into a sneer, revealing a flash of teeth.
“I said I am not stripping down in front of you,” she spat out, her voice thick with barely contained rage.
The guard's face twisted in a mocking grin. “Oh, what's the matter? Scared we'll see your pretty little body?”
Sloane felt her cheeks heat up, and her grip on her mana intensified. She drew on the power around her, feeling it flow into her channels and electrify her entire being. Four [Mana Bolts] appeared above her shoulders, flickering with purple arcane energy that illuminated the dimly lit chamber.
Her eyes glowed and crackled with an otherworldly fury as she met the guard's gaze once more. “I suggest you back off,” she growled, her voice laced with menace. “I have been cooperative, but if you force me, I will defend myself.”
The guard took a step back, his face pale with fear. The woman sighed and gestured towards the sack. “Just put your stuff in there, then,” she mumbled, her voice barely audible over the sound of Sloane's mana crackling in the air
Sloane narrowed her eyes in triumph and turned toward the table. She looked for her runic sword, only to find it missing.
“Where is my sword?” she demanded, turning towards the guards once more.
The second guard, a larger telv next to Nemura, smiled. “You may have him scared, but your little trick doesn’t scare me. You had no sword. So–”
The man’s nose erupted in blood as Nemura headbutted him.
Sloane couldn't help but smirk as she watched Nemura take down the guard. The sound of his nose breaking echoed through the room, and the other guards drew their weapons. Sloane took a step forward, her Mana Bolts still hovering over her shoulders. “I suggest you return our weapons before things get messy,” she said, her voice cold and threatening.
The telv man who had been examining their belongings stepped forward. “You two are in no position to make demands,” he spat. “You're lucky we haven't thrown you in a cell already.”
Sloane's eyes flicked to the sack on the table. “Our belongings," she repeated, preparing an [Arcane Lance]. “Or there will be consequences.”
The man's hesitation was palpable. Sloane studied his eyes and saw fear–an emotion she rarely saw in people in positions where they were supposed to hold all the cards. She knew then that she held the upper hand. This newfound realization steeled her resolve; she wouldn't let them prey on her and Nemura any longer.
After a prolonged silence that seemed to stretch into eternity, the man finally acquiesced, subtly nodding to the guard stationed beside her.
“Where’s her sword?” he demanded.
The guard’s eyes widened. “H-He left it in the wagon.”
“Well get it!” the man shouted. “Now!”
While the man ran off, Sloane and Nemura began to remove their armor and other belongings that they still had. Sloane hesitated at her wrist, but the high elf woman caught her. “The bracelet too.”
“If this goes missing, I will burn the city down,” Sloane said evenly. She was already tired of the city and tired of being waylaid. They needed to leave, and they only had four days before the ship left.
They could not get stuck here.
The woman nodded. “I will ensure it does not then.”
Sloane slowly removed her watch and held it out to the woman. Her eyes narrowed. “I will trust you, but do not forget what you promised.”
The woman hesitated, but then nodded and grabbed the watch.
As they finished gathering their things, the other guard returned, holding onto her sword, and quickly placed it on the table with everything else.
Sloane turned to the telv man once more. “If anything is missing or damaged, there will be problems,” she warned, her eyes still filled with arcane energy.
The man just sneered in response, but Sloane could see the hint of fear still present in his expression. She let her magic dissipate and glanced at Nemura. The woman nodded, she was clearly just as determined to get out of this jail as Sloane was.
“Over here,” the high elf woman said with a gesture to one of the cells. “You will get two meals per day, the bucket will be replaced at the end of each day. Do not cause any issues. Your trial will be determined tomorrow.”
Sloane and Nemura were shoved into the small cell, and the heavy iron door slammed shut behind them.
Her heart sank as she surveyed the confined cell. The walls, damp and cold, seemed to close in on her, and the air was heavy with a stagnant odor that made her nose wrinkle.
Leaning against the uninviting wall, she ran a hand through her hair, a sigh escaping her lips as the gravity of the situation fully sank in.
“Well, shit,” Sloane mumbled to herself.
Nemura scanned the cell, her eyes thoughtful. “We just need to last a bit longer. If all else fails, you have your magic.”
Sloane pushed off of the wall and began pacing the cell, her mind racing. Stefan was out there with Mariel, surely the man would be working something out.
“Relax, there is nothing we can do right now. Stefan is resourceful. He’ll figure it out,” Nemura said as if reading Sloane’s mind.
She could only groan in response.
Four days.
The final bell of the day sounded in the distance as Stefan sat quietly.
Stefan found himself casting a curious look around the spacious office he and Mariel occupied. He was struck by the distinctiveness of the decor within the Guildmaster's office. The room was generously proportioned, filled to the brim with a peculiar assortment of trinkets and artifacts.
Shelves lining the walls heaved under the weight of countless books, scrolls, and a collection of mysterious items that Stefan could not readily identify. Situated at the heart of the room was an imposing, ornate desk, its surface adorned with intricate carvings that added to its grandeur. Complementing the setting were plush, comfortable chairs, their elaborate embroidery and gold trimmings hinting at a flair for luxurious comfort.
Seated behind the desk, lending the room an aura of authority, was the Guildmaster. The telv's stern countenance and piercing blue eyes provided a stark contrast to the curious warmth of the room. He surveyed Stefan and Mariel with a demeanor of cool detachment.
“I have heard some disturbing reports, Mister Stranca,” he said, his voice low, sure.
Stefan sat up straighter in his chair, trying to convey an air of professionalism despite the sweat on his brow. Mariel sat next to Stefan, the thirteen-year-old trying to make herself seem small as the two men talked.
“What is that, Guildmaster?” he asked.
“A terran noble has been arrested, which is interesting in itself,” the Guildmaster began, his tone cool and detached. “I received word that Lady Reinhart would pass through our fair city some time ago from my friend, Guildmaster Romaris. My understanding was that you were only contracted to guard Lanthil’s niece and the lady on their way to Marketbol, yet here you are having joined the terran’s House.”
Stefan nodded. “Yes, that was the original agreement. However, circumstances changed. Lady Reinhart has proven to be a positive force, one that will benefit the Guilds.”
The Guildmaster raised an eyebrow skeptically. "And how exactly is that?"
Stefan hesitated, trying to come up with a convincing argument. “Lady Reinhart has knowledge and skills that can be of great use to us. The Banking Guild, alone, will not wish to see her harmed.”
The Guildmaster leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers together in front of him. “I see. And what of the accusations against her? Do you deny them? Mind you, I have it on good authority that you were involved.”
Stefan took a deep breath. “I cannot deny that we were involved, Guildmaster,” Stefan admitted. “But the situation is not as straightforward as it may seem. I am unsure how the Guard was made aware, and what information they were given, but we did not kill the paladin. We were meeting him there regarding a situation within the Church.”
The Guildmaster raised a brow but did not reply. Stefan continued, “We found the paladin dead when we arrived, and we were then attacked by people who oppose the Church. They were the ones that set a trap for us, so we defended ourselves.”
Guildmaster Cross’s expression remained impassive as he listened to Stefan’s explanation. Mariel shifted nervously in her seat beside Stefan, and he reached over to place a comforting hand on her shoulder.
“We need your help, Guildmaster,” Stefan said. “To keep Mariel safe while I work to clear Lady Reinhart’s name and get her out of jail. It is in the best interest of the guilds.”
The Guildmaster drummed his fingers on the desk for a moment, considering Stefan’s words. Finally, he spoke.
“Very well. I will see what I can do to help you, if only out of my friendship with Lanthil. But you must understand, Mister Stranca, the Blades Guild cannot directly interfere with the city’s leadership. We are a guild that works in the shadows. You need a way to bring your plight into the light.”
Stefan nodded. “I appreciate your help, Guildmaster.”
The Guildmaster tapped on his desk, signaling the end of the meeting and the three of them stood. “I will make arrangements for Mariel’s safety, and I will see what I can do to help with Lady Reinhart’s release. In the meantime, you should look for Evocati Yemina. That is if she is not already dead.”
The Blade shared a glance with the priestess, and he could see the weight of everything bearing down on the young girl.
“I will do that, Guildmaster.”
The man nodded. “Good, now,” he said as he reached into his desk and pulled out a small scroll. “Go here. Make sure you are not followed. Two Blades will arrive. They will repeat the phrase written on that scroll. If they do not repeat it verbatim, something is wrong.”
“Understood. Thank you, Guildmaster.”
Stefan took the scroll and quickly committed its contents to memory before he tucked it safely into his pocket. Mariel followed him out of the office and they made their way through the Blade's Guild headquarters to the exit. As they stepped outside into the fading daylight, Stefan turned to Mariel.
“Stay close to me,” he said. “We need to be cautious from now on.”
Mariel nodded, her eyes wide with worry. Stefan comfortingly clasped her hand, and together they began to make their way through the busy streets of the city. They passed by merchants hawking their wares, travelers exploring new sights, vigilant guards and desperate beggars, all blissfully unaware of the danger that lurked in the shadows.
Stefan's gaze ceaselessly scanned the sea of faces around them, hunting for any telltale signs of a threat. Mariel held his hand tight, her wide eyes darting in response to every movement, every unfamiliar sound. They navigated the thoroughfares swiftly, their efforts focused on not drawing undue attention.
At last, they reached the destination given to them by the Guildmaster. It was a narrow alleyway squeezed between two towering structures, a gloomy space bereft of activity. Stefan gave a quick sweep of his surroundings but found no one lurking. Withdrawing the scroll from his pocket, he carefully read out the inscribed phrase. An eerie silence ensued for a moment, only to be broken by a voice that materialized from the shadows behind him, articulating in the enchanting tongue of the moon elves.
“Al ta ella mestar.”
The fox hunts alone.
“But the wolf hunts in a pack,” he replied. Stefan turned to see two Blades standing behind him, their faces obscured by their hoods.
He relaxed slightly, knowing that they were there to help.
“Follow us,” one of them said, a woman, and they turned and disappeared into the shadows. Stefan and Mariel followed, their hearts racing with anticipation.
Yemina looked down at the body of Fynn, a young vicori of the order. His remains lay on a stone table within the temple, the two city guardsmen who had delivered him standing quietly nearby. Yemina's heart sank at the sight of the lifeless body. Fynn had been a promising young vicori, eager to serve the Church and bring light to the world.
And now he was dead, another casualty in whatever shadow war was claiming the lives of her brothers and sisters in Alos.
The worst part was, she had no way to call for help.
Praetor Moren was missing, and presumed dead. The man and his squad were ambushed on the way to visit a nearby town to deal with a reported monster sighting. She'd been unable to locate any of them since, and the scene itself had been littered with bits of broken armor, blood, and bones. All scattered as if to seem like a monster attack at first glance, but she suspected otherwise. Especially, since the amount wasn’t enough to account for the Praetor and the four members of his squad.
The man had even made sure to take extra men because of a monster attack that had claimed the lives of an evocati and his vicori trainee several weeks prior.
Then there was the fact that the Temple Guards were likely compromised. She wasn't sure how, or why, but it appeared that several priests were ordering clandestine operations. But she had even less evidence of that theory.
She didn't think she'd find it. Nothing added up, but she knew one thing.
As the last surviving paladin in the city where it appeared they were being targeted, she knew it was only a matter of time before whoever was behind this came for her.
She knelt beside the table and closed her eyes, offering a prayer for the young man’s soul.
When she opened them again, she looked up at the guards.
“Are these all of his effects?” she asked, gesturing toward the small sack they had brought.
The guard on the left shifted uncomfortably. “We believe so, ma’am. But we don’t know whether his killers took anything.”
Yemina sighed as she scrutinized the vicori’s face. His youthful features were peaceful even in death.
“And the killer?” she asked levelly.
“We caught one of them, ma’am,” the guard on the right answered. “A terran noblewoman. She’s being held in the city’s prison.”
“And the others?” Yemina pressed.
“There was only one other. We’re still searching for him,” the guard replied. “But we believe he is still within the city. We’ve sent out patrols to try and find him.”
Yemina nodded.
“Thank you again, guardsmen.”
The two men nodded and saluted before making their way out of the temple. A priest entered the room after they left, the telv man’s eyes focusing on Fynn’s body.
“We will prepare his body, Evocati,” the man said.
Yemina placed a hand on the priest’s shoulder. “Thank you. Take care of him, send him off to Relena at his best.”
The man nodded. “We will, Evocati. Be safe.”
She gave him a weak smile. “Alos Protects.”
As she left the temple, Yemina couldn’t shake off the feeling that something wasn’t adding up.
Before the guards and Fynn’s body had even arrived, she’d already inquired with a contact in the City Guard. They had only known about the attack after receiving a tip from a passerby. They had no true evidence other than verbal testimony that the terran woman had even been there.
She glanced up at the dark expanse of the sky, lost in thought about how to peel back the layers of deceit shrouding the city. The intricate web of secrets and lies seemed impenetrable, but she knew that she needed more information before she could act. Resolute, she decided to visit the site of the recent attack in Emerald Groves Park, hoping that it might shed light on the unsettling events that had unfolded.
As Yemina navigated the winding streets under the cover of darkness, a knot of apprehension settled in her stomach. She was acutely aware of her vulnerability; alone and in a city where certain people wanted her dead.
Her journey took her through deserted streets, her footfalls echoing off stone walls and her crimson armor reflecting the sporadic glow of passing lamps. Her hand never strayed far from the hilt of her sword, always alert to any sign of danger. The distant cries of stray dogs and the whispering rustle of wind-tossed leaves were her only companions.
Upon reaching the locked gates of Emerald Groves Park, she deftly scaled the wall and descended into the hushed greenery. The park was steeped in an uncanny silence, the only sign of life being the occasional rustle in the undergrowth. With careful, measured steps, Yemina approached the site of the attack, her senses razor-sharp.
The sight of the fountain was a grim reminder of Fynn's fate, his lifeless body found near the bench where she now stood. Her eyes scoured the area meticulously, searching for anything that could provide a clue to the truth behind the brutal attack. Footprints, disturbances in the foliage, discarded objects – she investigated everything, yet found nothing unusual. Each dead-end served only to deepen the mystery.
In a moment of weariness, Yemina slumped onto the bench, her investigation seemingly going nowhere. She took a deep, calming breath, striving to quiet her frantic thoughts. But as her eyes fluttered open, they fell upon a small piece of paper lodged under the bench. Recognition hit her as she deciphered the handwriting—it was Fynn’s.
The note read, ‘Mt trn. grl key.’
Her eyes widened. She quickly realized that the note was a message from Fynn to her.
Yemina furrowed her brow as she read the note again, trying to make sense of the jumbled letters. After a moment, the meaning finally clicked into place and she understood what Fynn was trying to tell her. She realized that the key to whatever was going on and to uncovering the truth was the terran and some girl.
With renewed urgency, she stashed the note in her belt pouch and sprang to her feet.
Who the girl was, Yemina had no idea, but she knew this was a lead she could not afford to ignore.
She left the park and returned to the deserted streets, her mind spinning with possibilities. It was essential she discover the identity of this key girl and why her association with the terran noblewoman led to Fynn's death.
She had to get to the prison and meet the terran noblewoman, whoever she was before it was too late. She couldn't shake off the feeling that time was running out.
As she navigated the labyrinth of streets, Yemina realized she was being followed by three men. Despite quickening her pace and reaching for her sword, their pursuit remained relentless. She attempted to evade them by darting into a narrow alleyway, only to be met by three additional figures, effectively cutting off her escape route.
Yemina was trapped.
The glint of steel caught the moonlight as she drew her sword with a swift motion.
If this was her time to die, she’d show them Alos’s fury before she breathed her last.
Stefan made his way through the streets at a purposeful pace. His mind was racing as he thought about Mariel's safety, and all he needed to do to help Sloane. He had left the young priestess with the two Blades at a safe house, and he hoped they could keep her hidden until he returned. He couldn't bear the thought of her being caught up in the violence that seemed to be consuming the city.
He needed to find the sole remaining paladin of the city. He had just left the temple, and couldn’t find anyone that knew where she was. He had been about to give up when a priest pulled him to the side and whispered to him that Yemina had gone to the park. Stefan knew exactly which park the man meant, and he made his way there as quickly as possible.
As Stefan strode through the streets of Swanbrook, he caught sight of a trail of crimson liquid that led into a narrow alley. Every fiber of his being told him to turn back, but he couldn't ignore the nagging sense that something was amiss. After a moment's hesitation, he gritted his teeth and stepped resolutely into the shadowy passage.
Stefan followed the trail of blood deeper into the alley, he kept himself alert, and on edge. His [Danger Sense] was quiet, but he knew that it wasn’t perfect. As he turned a corner, he saw a figure in the distance, a woman in red plate armor, barely standing on her feet. She was stumbling and dragging her hand along the wall for support, leaving a smear of blood in her wake.
He rushed forward, seeing that it was a sun elf, and called out to the woman, but she didn’t seem to hear him. He reached out to steady her, and she turned to face him, her eyes locking onto his, pain and determination in her expression. The woman reached down for a dagger that sat on her waist.
Stefan jumped back and raised his hands. “Wait! Let me help you.”
The woman's eyes narrowed, and she studied Stefan carefully before nodding and relaxing her grip on the dagger. Stefan noticed that her armor was badly damaged, and blood had soaked through the fabric underneath.
“Who did this to you?” Stefan asked as he wrapped his arm around her to help the sun elf walk.
The woman's expression darkened, and she clenched her jaw. “Six men in black hooded armor. Magic users,” she said through gritted teeth. “They caught me off guard.”
“You got away?” Stefan asked, looking over his shoulder for anyone who could be looking for her.
She shook her head. “They’re dead,” she said with a wince.
He studied the woman before him, her armor and tabard strikingly familiar. His eyes widened in realization as he locked gaze with the sun elf. “You're Evocati Yemina.”
With a feeble nod, Yemina confirmed his suspicion, her grip on her dagger slackening as she leaned heavily against Stefan. “Yes,” she managed to utter, her voice no louder than a fragile whisper.
A pang of sorrow hit Stefan as he saw the highly esteemed Evocati in such a dire condition. “We need to get you help,” he asserted resolutely, aiding her to keep moving.
Yemina nodded, her voice trembling. “Not the temple. Traitors…” As her words trailed off, Stefan saw her eyelids growing heavy. He realized the urgency of their situation–they had to find help soon, or Yemina might not pull through. So they pressed on, Stefan continuously scanning their surroundings for any potential threats.
I’ve got to get her to the safe house.
Supporting Yemina's weight, Stefan navigated the labyrinth of alleyways, inching closer to the safe house. The journey was an arduous one, but they eventually reached their destination. Shouting out to the two Blades within, they were promptly granted entry.
As they stepped inside, the Blades immediately rushed over, helping Stefan get Yemina onto a bed. After a quick examination of her wounds, Stefan knew that they were beyond his ability to treat. He needed a skilled healer or surgeon. He turned to his companions urgently. “We need to find a surgeon. Now.”
One of the Blades acknowledged the command and bolted out of the room. The other stayed behind, helping Stefan in stabilizing Yemina.
Meanwhile, Mariel, huddled in a corner of the room, looked on with undisguised terror as they tended to Yemina's injuries. Stefan could tell she yearned to be of assistance, yet understood her helplessness in the situation. With no other recourse, she remained where she was, eyes shut, sending silent prayers to the gods for Yemina's recovery.
Sloane was jolted awake by the harsh, resonant bangs reverberating through the confines of their diminutive cell. An insistent throb pulsed in her head, eliciting a groan as she made an effort to prop herself up. As she massaged her temples, she surveyed the scant space around her, her gaze falling on the corroded iron bars, the grimy walls marked by stains of an indiscernible past, and the floor marred by layers of filth. Memories from the previous night rushed back, and a knot of stress and anxiety lodged itself in her stomach.
Beside her, Nemura was already awake, perched pensively on the edge of the cell's lone, pitiful excuse for a bed.
“What's going on?” Sloane muttered, rubbing her eyes.
Before Nemura could respond, the door creaked open, and a guard stepped in, his armor clanging against the stone. “Get up,” he growled, his expression grim. “You’re expected by the Justicar.”
Sloane and Nemura got up slowly, their muscles sore and their bodies exhausted. The guard led them out of the cell and into an antechamber, where twenty fully armored soldiers were waiting for them. They all had shields and spears out and at the ready, their eyes fixed on the two prisoners.
The telv man from the night prior stood there at the head of the assembly. “There will be no repeats of last night. Try anything and you will both be killed.”
Sloane’s eyes narrowed, but she did not respond.
The man took her silence for acceptance and gestured toward the door.
As Sloane and Nemura started walking, all of the soldiers moved into formation around them.
Sloane swallowed hard as the severity of their situation started to settle into her.
I hope Stefan is having more luck.
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